


Brown Mountain Lights

by SuperWhoLock_12



Series: An Ordinary Librarian in an Extraordinary World [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Blood Magic, Bondage, Camping, Depression, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Edgeplay, F/M, Impala, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Major character death - Freeform, Mild Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Spanking, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Resurrection, Sam Has Puppy Dog Eyes, Self-Esteem Issues, Sketchy Motel Rooms, Stress Baking, Torture, sort of self insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 104,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLock_12/pseuds/SuperWhoLock_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I wanted to do was work in my cozy archive, finish my degree, and live the quiet, boring life of a librarian with my cat and my tea. I didn't want to have to deal with people I might get close to or someone I might care about. Then something attacked me on my way home, two of Bobby Singer's friends kidnapped me, and everything went to hell in a handbasket. Possibly literally, but neither of them will talk about it...<br/> </p><p>Tags and rating may be updated as story progresses. AU from end of season 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vampires, Motel Rooms, and Stupid-Ass Men

**Author's Note:**

> *waves* Hi! First fic in this fandom! Because of that, I think Sam and Dean might be a little out of character. Let me know and I will edit and re-edit until I get it right. I'm posting the first two chapters together and more will follow; tweaks may be made to chapters already posted. Comments much appreciated!

It had been a really long fucking day.

I worked in the special collections department at Overton University in North Carolina, specializing in Native American occult paraphernalia. Everyone thinks librarians do nothing but answer obscure research questions, check out patrons, and shush people, but working in a library is a lot more complicated than that. New books don't magically appear on the shelves, the catalog doesn't update itself, and grant applications don't write themselves. The entire cataloging system had crashed today, and as the resident IT girl (the only person there under thirty-five), I was the one who had to figure out how to fix it. Once I'd figured out what was wrong – the head librarian had tried to update the system by uninstalling the entire program – and fixed it, I had precisely two hours to do eight hours worth of work. That, of course, meant I'd ended up staying late, so when I left, the sun had gone down. 

As I walked to my car, though I shivered in the cool October air, I was paying absolutely no attention to my surroundings; I had this nasty habit of getting lost in thought and going somewhere on muscle memory alone. I jerked back to awareness when I reached my parking spot – and my car wasn't there.

After a brief moment of panic, I remembered that I'd parked farther from the library today, trying to make an effort to not be quite so lazy. Unfortunately, I had managed to park in the darkest corner of the enormous lot, and of course everyone else was gone. Taking a deep breath, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and positioned them between my fingers. While the library was in a decent part of town, there had been reports of animal attacks in the area, and I figured a swipe to the face with four sharp keys would at least make whatever creature it was back off for a few seconds.

I reached my car and let out a huge breath, unlocked the door, and got in. Driving away, I laughed at myself for thinking someone was after me.

I pulled into my driveway, got out of the car, looked up at the dark motion activated light and sighed – I'd been meaning to replace the bulb for weeks, but I only remembered it after sunset, and I wasn't going to try to change a bulb in the pitch-black. I meandered towards the front door, trying to locate my house key. Just as I pulled the key out of the mess my keychain had turned into, something hit me hard from behind, knocking me to the brick walkway. My head connected with the stone and everything went white with pain.

Rough hands turned me over and hard fingers clamped over my mouth, another hand pinning my wrists above my head. The man above me was wild-eyed and disheveled, and – oh God, was that blood on his shirt? I finally regained control of my body and started to squirm and kick, letting out muffled screams against his hand, trying my best to get a knee up between his legs or my teeth into his fingers, but it was like he was made of granite. “Easy, little one. Easy. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you,” the man whispered, and I slowly began to stop struggling, wide eyes staring up into his. 

Once I was still he grinned, showing a mouthful of teeth that were definitely not human, and hissed, “I lied.”

I tried to scream again, but his teeth were in my neck and it hurt so badly I could barely think. I tried to bring up a hand to pull his hair, slap him, do something, but he just slammed my wrists into the asphalt and bit down harder.

I shut my eyes and tried to pretend this wasn't happening, but I was starting to get woozy and I knew I was losing a lot of blood. I could feel consciousness slipping away when I felt a warm spray on my face and chest and the pressure of his teeth disappeared. I opened my eyes to see a man in a plaid shirt holding a bloody machete but before I could ask him what the hell was going on, I blacked out. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I woke up, I was in a motel room – one of the super sketchy, charges-by-the-hour-not-just-the-night type. I was lying on one of two double beds while the guy in the plaid shirt dabbed something on the wounds in my neck. I groaned and started to sit up, but a huge hand landed on my chest and pushed me back down.

I was suddenly wide awake and fighting him. I pulled my foot up and managed to kick the man in the chest, pushing him off of me just long enough for me to crawl off the bed and make a run for the door. I heard him say “Wait! Hang on -” but just as I reached for the doorknob, an arm caught me around the waist and pulled me back towards the bed. I fought and kicked and even tried to bend over enough to bite, but the person behind me was strong enough to pick me up off my feet. He tossed me back on the bed like I weighed nothing; I tried to clamber back off, but the man who'd put me there climbed on the bed and – sat on me. Seriously?

“Look, you have to hold still until I can get this bite on your neck sewn up.” That was the guy in the plaid, now holding a wicked-looking curved needle and thread and giving me pleading puppy eyes. My mouth dropped open.

“I – what? Why the hell am I not at a hospital, if I need stitches? Moreover, who the fuck are you people and what the hell bit me?!”

The guy sitting on me looked down at me. “Moreover? Really? Who actually says that?”

“Someone with a vocabulary beyond sixth grade, moron,” I spat while bucking my hips and twisting under him, trying to dislodge him enough to get a knee into his groin.

The guy in plaid snorted. “She's got you there, Dean.” He sighed and rubbed his jaw. “Look, if we answer your questions, will you hold still for me to sew you up?”

I looked up at him suspiciously – like, way up. This guy was freaking tall. However, the guy sitting on me – Dean – was way too heavy for me to move, and clearly I wasn't getting off this bed until they wanted me to. I stopped fighting and said shortly, “Fine. Will you get off of me?”

The guy with the needle looked at Dean. “Will you answer her? If I don't focus, she's going to have a huge scar and I doubt she'll appreciate that.”

“Aw, Jesus, Sam, I hate trying to explain this shit to people,” Dean whined, pouting at the guy in plaid.

“Suck it up, jerk,” Sam replied, carefully threading the needle.

“Bitch. Okay, fine.” Dean rolled his eyes and didn't move from his apparently comfortable seat on my legs. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Let's start with what the hell bit me? It looked like a person until it opened its mouth!” I said, wincing as the needle entered my skin. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, though; Sam must have been numbing it when I woke up.

Dean sighed. “It was a vampire.”

I blinked. “I'm sorry, I thought you said it was a vampire.”

“I did. They can pass as human until they want to feed, then those weird teeth come out.”

I decided to suspend my disbelief. “Okay. Um, am I going to turn into a vampire?”

“No. You have to drink the vampire's blood to become one, and even then, the transition isn't complete until your first human kill.”

“So how did Sam over there get it off me?”

Dean was suddenly looking anywhere but at me. “He, uh, he cut its head off. Sorry about your shirt, by the way.”

“He – beheaded it,” I said slowly. “While its teeth were still in my neck? While its neck was about TWO INCHES FROM MINE?!”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, Sam's got a knack with the machete.”

I closed my eyes. “Jesus Christ. Okay. So why am I not at a hospital? Everyone else who was attacked by an 'animal' ended up at the hospital.”

I felt a tug on my neck as the thread was tied off, then Sam answered me. “Well, we're really working on something besides the vampire thing, although we'll definitely look into that, and we were actually kind of looking for you. Do you know anything about the Brown Mountain lights?”

I did, of course. It's hard to curate a collection of Native American artifacts and legends without knowing anything about the Brown Mountain lights. Sightings of the lights dated back to the 1200s, according to Cherokee legends. They told of a terrible battle between the Cherokee and Catawba tribes, ending in the deaths of many warriors on both sides. That night, after the fight, the maidens of the tribes came to the battlefield and searched for the bodies of their men by torchlight; the lights are the torches of those maidens, forever searching for their lost loves.

I frowned. “Yes. Why were y'all looking for me?”

Dean responded, “We found your name and address in a book on Native American supernatural experts, and we'd like to know more about those lights.”

I opened my mouth, ready to respond, then something hit me. I never gave out my home address. Ever. There had been an – incident – with an odd ex-boyfriend, and now I made sure that my new home address was never listed anywhere. I had only given that address to two people, my mother and - 

“Shit! If you have anything to do with Bobby Singer, I swear to God I will figure out a way to bring him back from the dead and kill him again!”

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

“Uh, how did you know where we got the address?” Sam asked.

“Because I only gave it to two people, and my mother sure as hell didn't give it to you!” I snapped, starting to twist under Dean again. The last thing I needed was to get mixed up in the weird shit Bobby and his friends seemed to trail behind them – although it looked like it might be too late. This time when I struggled Dean wasn't expecting it and I broke free, moving towards the door much more quickly.

However fast I was, Dean was apparently faster. I landed on my back on the bed hard enough to knock the breath out of me, and he was straddling my hips, pinning my wrists down and looking really irritated. 

I felt a small tingle at the physical contact, then ruthlessly suppressed it and snapped, “Get off me!”When he didn't move, I took a deep breath and let out the loudest scream of my life. Or at least, I tried. A split second after noise came out of my mouth, a wadded up washcloth was shoved in my mouth, muffling any sound I tried to make. After a few seconds, I subsided, breathing raggedly through my nose and giving both men an evil glare – and I was a librarian. I had a fantastic evil glare.

Dean actually looked uncomfortable for a minute, then sighed. “Look, Katherine, we don't want to hurt you. We just want some information and then you can go back to your life.”

I guess since they knew I knew where they got their information, they figured it was safe to show they knew my name. I made a disbelieving sound through the gag, and Sam snorted. “She caught you, Dean. Look, Bobby's little biography said that you aren't just a librarian for a bunch of Native American paraphernalia. You're the foremost scholar in Native American folklore in the country, and you know more than most people about the supernatural in North America. We need someone to help us with research, now that Bobby's gone. That's the reason I was at your house last night; I wanted to ask you to help. We aren't going to force you, but without someone to help us figure out these monsters a lot of people are going to die while we try to figure it out for ourselves.”

I sighed inwardly. I had a feeling that might be what they were after, once I figured out who they got my address from. Bobby had helped me get rid of that ex-boyfriend, and I knew I owed him. He'd told me the guy was a skinwalker and while I knew exactly what a skinwalker was, it's kind of hard to believe that they exist, let alone that you used to sleep with one. When you spend your days steeped in myth, though, your worldview starts to broaden, although I was still having trouble with the whole vampire thing. I closed my eyes and nodded once, sharply. I felt the washcloth being removed from my mouth and I swallowed, trying to rid my tongue of the musty flavor of old terrycloth.

“Okay, look. Bobby already made me that offer, and I declined. I gave him my information on the off chance that he couldn't figure something out and needed help.”

Sam cut me off. “But Bobby's - ” 

“Yes, I know he's dead! That's the only reason I'm even considering your offer. He helped me deal with a...thing...and I owe him. However, I don't know you and I'm not sure I want to know you.” I took a deep breath. “So. There's our dilemma. I like my life. It's normal. I work from nine to five every day and come home to my apartment and my cat. I don't think I really want to get into your world of vampires and shit.”

Sam's face fell. “But, Katherine, if you don't help us, we've got no one else to ask. We've exhausted Bobby's little black book, and we did try not to come to you, since he'd said that you were a final option.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. This was ridiculous. I couldn't believe I was actually considering going with these idiots, even if it was just to do research, but they did need my help. I had a doctorate in Native American folklore, and I was working on my thesis to complete another doctorate in North American history, not to mention the master's in library science (so sue me, I had no life for eight years, except that one guy. I got Bitty right after that crashed and burned, and decided he was my significant other for a while). They probably weren't murderers and they probably wouldn't hurt me, since Bobby hadn't really made a habit of hanging around bad people. Bobby was the best at what he did, but now that he was gone, I was pretty sure I was the new best. Dammit.

I opened my eyes. “Fine. I'll help y'all for this case, then we'll decide where to go from there.”

Sam grinned, and Dean made eye contact for the first time since I'd made my run for the door. I absently noted that his eyes were a gorgeous shade of green. “Excellent,” he said. “Well, Katherine, let's get going.”

I closed my eyes again, still not believing I had actually said yes. “For the love of God, call me Kat.”

Dean climbed off of me, and I sat up. “Okay. Brown Mountain lights. What do y'all need to know?”

The guys looked at each other.

“Um...” Dean trailed off.

I rolled my eyes. “Let's start with what you already know, and I'll fill in the gaps.”

Sam said, “There are lights that float above Brown Mountain at night, usually in the fall.”

I looked back and forth at them. “That's it?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

I opened my mouth to start telling them the legend, then stopped. “Wait, I though Bobby and his – friends – only dealt with spooky things that hurt people. There has never been even a whisper of the lights causing a death or injury.”

Sam suddenly looked grim. “Yeah, until now.” 

He walked over to a small table and grabbed a laptop that I hadn't noticed until now. When he handed it to me, I saw that he had pulled up three news articles on tourists falling from Wiseman's View Overlook, a popular spot to look at the lights. I'd been to Wiseman's View – if you fell, the odds of survival were slim to none.

I frowned. “Okay, but how are these not accidents? I mean, the wall around the overlook is pretty high, but it's certainly still possible for someone to fall, especially if they aren't careful.”

“Look at the dates,” Sam said.

Wait. “These all happened in the last two days?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, and there are no other records of people falling off this overlook. The last recorded 'accidental' death in the area was in 1995. There are a few before that, about twenty years apart, dating back to 1875. Moreover - ” I looked over at Dean and grinned - “only one guy was there with someone else, his wife, and she said it looked like something dragged him over the wall. It still wouldn't have come up on our radar, though, but for those lights.”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Well, okay. Let's start at the beginning.”

I told them the legend of the Cherokee and Catawba battle, prodding my brain to remember every detail and variation I had ever heard. When I had finished, Dean frowned. “That sounds harmless, especially since it dates back so far, and the deaths only started in 1875.” 

The guys started tossing theories back and forth about the cause of the deaths while I sat there, trying to tease out an edge of memory that had been triggered...

“Hang on, I think I might know what it is.” The men looked at me expectantly.

I put on my lecturing voice. “There are multiple legends surrounding the lights. The one I told you is the most widely accepted one, simply because it explains how the sightings were seen so far back into history. However, there are others which don't take into consideration those earlier records. The one that may be of use to you involves the disappearance of a young woman in 1855. She was married and had recently had a child, but the theory at the time was that her husband had killed her. The lights are supposed to be her spirit, haunting the place where the man buried her. Now, she died in 1855 at the age of twenty. If you suppose she does haunt the place, and that she's a malevolent spirit, say she takes her first victim in 1875, twenty years after she died. Then she takes two in 1895, three in 1915, and so on. The reason there are so few records is because Wiseman's View wasn't built until 1998, three years after her last...episode, so the deaths were easily explained away as lost hikers and other simple accidents. I'm not sure why she's stuck on Wiseman's View this time around.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other thoughtfully, then looked at me.

“That's...impressive,” Sam finally said. “Did you really just pull all of that out of your head?”

Dean laughed. “She's just like you, Sammy! A brain full of weird shit.”

I decided not to take offense and shrugged. “Yeah. I have a ridiculously retentive memory for random stuff. Most of IMDB is in my head, too, but I can't manage to remember a doctor's appointment or to feed my cat, which I totally forgot to do this morning...”

Then I froze. “Shit! What time is it?”

Dean checked his watch. “Ah, 11:15.”

I jumped off the bed. “I have to go home really quick,” I said, looking around for my keys, hoping the guys had thought to grab them. “I have to feed the cat.”

Dean looked at me oddly. “I always thought cats kind of, you know, fended for themselves pretty well.”

I rolled my eyes. “I have an indoor cat. There is literally nothing for him to eat unless I give it to him, and I'm not going to let him starve to death because two of Bobby Singer's friends kidnapped me.”

Sam hesitated. “It might not be a good idea to go home right now, Kat. Where there's one vampire, there's usually more, and we kind of need you alive. I'm also wondering if they might have found out we were looking for you, and decided to take care of you before we found you.”

“I'll be fine, now that I know to be careful,” I said, picking up the papers on the table and looking under them. No keys. I moved to the nightstand. “One of you can come with me and bring the machete.”

Sam said, “I really don't think you should go, not in the dark. That is probably a really bad idea.”

I stopped searching through the mess on the nightstand and looked at him. “I'm thirty years old, Sam, I can make my own decisions, no matter how bad they are. Where the hell are my keys?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Dean beat him to the punch. “Sure, you can make your own decisions. Decide away. But we're ten miles from your house, see, and we drove you here. And I have your keys.” He reached into his pocket and dangled your keys just out of reach.

I gaped at them. “Oh my God. You are kidnapping me.”

Sam jumped in. “No we aren't, Kat, we're just trying to keep you safe - ”

I snorted. “Let's see – you removed me from my home, brought me to a different location, and now you won't let me leave – what part of that is NOT kidnapping? If I had said no to your offer, would you have let me go?”

The guys looked at each other, then Dean sighed. “Yeah, I guess we we would have, but not until we knew you were safe. Which, by the way, is what we're trying to do now, so I guess we are kidnapping you. Whatever you want to call it. But you are not leaving this room until we know your house is safe, because we need your help to solve this.”

I crossed my arms. “Fine. Whatever. Dicks.” I sat down on the other bed, away from the guys, and sulked as loudly as I could in their direction. I could hear Sam and Dean muttering to each other, and then footsteps moving towards me. I kept my back turned, knowing I was being immature, but I couldn't help it. I was tired, my neck hurt, I was worried about Bitty, and if I was being honest with myself, I was absolutely terrified of both Sam and Dean and whatever mess they'd gotten me into. Plus, I figured I would wait till they were asleep, take Dean's car keys, and make a break for it.

I felt cold metal around my wrist, and then jumped as the other handcuff snapped around the bedpost. I jerked my arm instinctively, but of course there was no give. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed at Dean, who was smirking at me and clearly pleased with himself.

“I'm sorry, Kat, but we have to make sure you don't try to sneak off in the middle of the night and get yourself killed,” Sam said apologetically.

Since that was exactly what I had been planning to do, except the getting killed part, I couldn't really blame them. “Well then, I guess this is my bed, and I'm certainly not sharing with either of you two overmuscled, under-intelligent giants.” Seriously, even Dean, the shorter one, had to be over six feet tall. 

Dean grinned lasciviously at me and opened his mouth, but Sam hurriedly said, “That's fine, I'll grab a sleeping bag out of the car and take the floor.”

“Damn right you will,” I muttered under my breath as I tried to figure out how to sleep with my wrist handcuffed to the bedpost. “Now shut up and let me sleep, since you won't let me leave.”

The men whispered to each other for a while, and then the light clicked off. I heard the motel room door open and close as Sam went out to get his sleeping bag, and the muffled sounds of Dean getting into bed. When Sam returned, they whispered to each other some more, voices slowly rising as they either forgot I was there or figured I was asleep.

" - hate that we have to - "

" - smart mouth is kinda hot - "

" - she's really the only option - "

" - Southern girls supposed to be sweet - "

I rolled over as best I could. “I am sweet, when I haven't just been attacked by something that doesn't exist, kidnapped, and held against my will!”

The whispers abruptly stopped, and despite myself, I fell asleep.


	2. Skinwalkers, Roadtrips, and Oblivious Men

I woke up slowly, as I always did. I stretched my arms out, only to be stopped cold by the metal around my wrist. Abruptly, I remembered that I had been handcuffed to a bed by two weirdos because they wanted to make sure I didn't get away before they had gotten the information they needed.

I sat bolt upright, jerking my arm behind me and sending waves of pain through my neck, and met the smirking green eyes of Dean, who was sitting in a chair cleaning a – was that a handgun? Lovely. Armed weirdos.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he grinned, setting the gun down on the table. I looked around for his friend, but saw nothing but an empty room.

“My brother's in the shower and I call dibs next,” he continued, “so you'll have to wait a while if you want one.” I blinked. Okay, not his friend, his brother. Then he leered, “Unless you want to join me...”

I rolled my eyes. Did this man flirt with everything female on two legs? I knew I wasn't particularly attractive. I carried about 30 pounds more than my frame was meant to and I looked about sixteen; I wore oversized cardigans to try to make myself look older, but mostly just managed to make myself look rounder. I wore glasses instead of contacts, I never wore makeup, and my hair spent most of its time in a bun on top of my head. Speaking of my hair – I reached up with my free hand and groaned. It was my best feature, a beautiful shade of auburn that was impossible to get in a salon. Unfortunately, it was also fine and curly, and since I'd gone to sleep without brushing it last night, the knots were going to be impossible to get out. Great, let's add insult to injury.

I sighed. “Will you take me home now that it's light? If I'm going to be staying with y'all, I need clothes and a toothbrush and all that mess. I'd also like to set up Bitty's auto-feeder, since apparently I'm not going to be allowed to come and go at my leisure.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “'Come and go at my leisure.' God, between you and Sammy, you sound like professors.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Dean, I am a professor. I may work in the library, but I teach one class a semester, usually on Native American folklore...Oh, hell. Guess I can't go to work, either.”

“Good guess, sweetheart,” Dean said.

“It's my day off, so I haven't already lost my job by not showing up. Can I at least make a call? I'd like to be able to go back to my job, when you're done with me.”

He looked briefly ashamed, then handed me a disposable cell. “Sure.”

I called the head librarian and explained that I had had a family emergency and was going to be out for a while, probably about a week – I looked up at Dean when I said that, and he nodded – and I was so sorry. She was very understanding and told me to take as much time as I needed, that they would be thinking about me while I was gone.

I hung up the phone and looked at it dismally. Sam had come out of the bathroom (wearing another plaid shirt) while I was making my excuses to my boss, and was looking at me worriedly.

“Kat, are you okay?” He stopped, stuttered briefly then said “Well, I mean, I know you're not okay, but - ”

“I get what you're saying, Sam,” I said gently. I did kind of feel bad for him, since it was pretty clear he really didn't want to be doing this to me. “I just really hate having to lie to Diane. She's a great boss and a big part of the reason I love my job.”

“Wouldn't that be nice,” Dean muttered. “A nice normal job, with a nice, normal boss. No demons, no witches, no ghosts, no monsters...”

I was beginning to see that if we were all going to survive this little enterprise, I was going to have to ignore most of what came out of Dean's mouth.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Okay, y'all, let's get this show on the road so I can hopefully get back to my life unscathed. What else do you need from me?”

Sam sat down at his laptop. “Part of our problem is that we're not from around here, and it seems like people won't talk to us. We don't even really know what questions to ask, since we aren't as familiar with the lore of this area. Is there any way you could maybe help a little with that?” He looked at me with those pleading puppy eyes again, and I couldn't say no. I grinned and fell back into the vocal rhythms of my childhood, before years of education toned my accent down to the occasional “y'all” and flattened vowel.

“Oh, bless your heart, honey, y'all need some help talkin' to folks? Well, I'm fixin' to head up towards Brown Mountain today anyhow, so you two can certainly tag along. I got some kin up thataways, so we might be able to sit with them for a spell and figger out what's goin' on with that haint. Y'all jest let me know what you need, you hear?”

Sam looked at me in shock and Dean's mouth actually dropped open. I started to laugh, with more than a tinge of hysteria, at the looks on their faces. “The Appalachian mountain people are incredibly insular,” I said between giggles. “You have to look right and sound right, and in those towns, a stranger is immediately noticed. If I do most of the talking, we'll be able to ask questions with a minimum of trouble.”

Sam sputtered for a moment, then asked, “But how did you just – take it off and put it back on? How did you learn the accent?”

I started laughing again. “Boys, I was born and raised in Hickville, North Carolina. I grew up talking like that, and it was only when I went away to college that I started taming the accent. I had to be able to switch, though, because in Maryland I got called a redneck and at home I got called a Yankee. So really, it's practice.”

Dean shook his head. “Whatever. Let's hit the road and gank this thing.”

I didn't budge. “First, someone needs to uncuff me. Second, I need to go home. Third – what, exactly, is 'gank'?”

Sam chuckled as Dean fished in his pockets for the handcuff key. “'Gank' is to kill something, or at least, that's how our dad used it.”

As the key clicked in the cuff, I said “Good, cause the word is actually a rarely used slang term for 'to steal,' or 'to swindle,' and I was deeply confused.” I rubbed my wrist as the metal released and added, “Okay, we've addressed two of the three, and don't think I haven't noticed you avoiding the third. I need to go home.”

The men looked at each other for a long moment, and I was getting ready to throw the mother of all temper tantrums, when Dean sighed and said, “Fine. But it's still a really bad idea.”

“Look, to not raise suspicions, you have to not only be able to talk the talk, but walk the walk. In this case, that means that my black slacks and grey cardigan aren't going to cut it. I have to change clothes. No one in Linville Falls wears business casual. Now,” I said as I looked out the window, “Which car is yours? I'm guessing the sexy vintage Impala.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was right, and it was beautiful on the inside as well. As I commented on the preservation of the leather, I noticed that Dean's chest was puffing out and deduced that this must be his pet project. Just to irritate him, I added, “Well, I mean, it doesn't really compare to a Porsche. Now that's a sexy car.” I saw his chest visibly deflate, then inflate again to berate me for not appreciating his beautiful automobile, when Sam hurriedly interrupted.

“Dean, that's her place, right there.”

Dean muttered under his breath as he turned into the driveway, parking behind my dark blue compact. We got out of the car, Sam's head swiveling like an owl's as he tried to keep an eye on every possible angle, Dean glaring at the ground. I stopped short, and Dean almost ran into me.

I held out my hand, and he frowned at me. “What?”

“I need my keys,” I said, coating my words in enough sugar to send him into a diabetic coma.

He growled at me – actually growled – and handed me my keys. I turned around, grinning to myself, and trotted up to the door. As I unlocked it and pushed it open, I noticed that Bitty hadn't come running to the door like he usually does when he's hungry. I was instantly on high alert. “Bitty?” I called as I slowly entered the house. “C'mere kitty kitty kitty! C'mere!” I frowned when I didn't hear his bell start to jingle. I walked into the kitchen and, curled up on Bitty's bed, was the naked form of my ex, apparently still asleep.

I froze, then backed slowly out of the kitchen until I bumped into a hard chest. I turned around, saw the brothers, and hissed, “My cat is my skinwalker ex-boyfriend!”

Sam tilted his head and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it and then opened it again, apparently still having nothing to say.

Dean, however, did not have that problem. As soon as he heard “skinwalker,” he had grabbed my wrist and was towing me back to the Impala at superspeed. Sam soon followed, and once we were outside, he asked “Aren't skinwalkers supposed to be canine?”

“No, they can turn into whatever they want to, according to Native American myth. Popular forms were bears, wolves, big cats, hawks - ” I shook my head and snapped out of professor mode. “Bobby told me that he took care of it!” I whimpered, losing my attitude in the face of this creature that would not go away. 

Sam and Dean looked at each other and then moved as one to the back of the Impala, opening the trunk and pulling out a pistol apiece. “W-what are those for?” I said, knowing my voice was quivering and hating it.

“Silver bullets,” Sam said grimly, checking the magazine and chamber.

I had to think about that for a second. Silver killed skinwalkers. They were planning on killing him? Well, he'd made it pretty clear that he wasn't going to leave me alone, no jail would hold a creature with his abilities, and I knew he was dangerous – Oh God. Oh my God...

While I was talking to myself, the brothers had entered the house, and I heard a single gunshot echo off the walls through the open front door. I stayed at the Impala, shaking, until they came out of the house covered in red dirt.

“Oh my God...” I whimpered from my position curled up against the Impala's wheel well.

Sam looked sympathetically at me. “Hey, Kat, it's okay.”

“No, you don't understand!” I cried. “There have been sporadic animal attacks for the last five years. I thought it was the vampire things, but they started right about when I got Bitty. How did he even get out? He was killing people for five years and living under my roof! Eating Fancy Feast! He slept in my bed!” I started shaking harder and crying, tears rolling down my face as I started to succumb to a panic attack.

“Aw, shit,” I heard someone say from a distance, then warm strong arms wrapped around my shoulders.

"I told you she was crazy," Dean said in irritation.

"Shut the fuck up, Dean," Sam hissed back. I clung to the plaid shirt in front of me and cried and shook until I finally quieted down, sobs becoming hiccups and hiccups becoming regular breaths. I pulled back and looked up at Sam, who had been – hugging me? I blushed, hard, and scrubbed the remaining tears off my face with my shirtsleeve.

“Okay,” I said, “I still need to pack a bag.”

Sam winced. “It's not just that, Kat. There's blood all over your kitchen. If the cops come looking for that guy, you're going to take the fall for it.”

“So what you're saying is that I should probably pack everything, since I can't come back,” I said dully. There went my job, my apartment, my life...

He nodded. “Yeah. That's pretty much what I'm saying.”

I shook myself and stood up straight. “Okay then. Let's go. I have an extensive wardrobe and library, and while I'm sure I won't be taking all of it, you two will certainly be carrying what I do take.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then their shoulders drooped in sync and they turned to follow me back into the house.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Do you really need all these books?” Dean grumbled as he hefted a box full of manuscripts into the backseat of the Impala.

“I thought you wanted me for my research skills, and I guarantee you, there are books in there Bobby Singer didn't even know existed.”

Dean scowled and slammed the door. Well, I wasn't much happier with him, not after the 'crazy' comment earlier.

“What now?” Sam asked, as he put the last duffel bag in the trunk.

I smiled inwardly at how they had gone from ordering me around to asking me what to do in the space of about three hours.

“Well, are we still going on this fact-finding mission?” I asked them.

Sam gave me a worried look. “I mean, if you're up to it. It's been kind of a traumatizing day for you.”

“I'm fine,” I said, and I really was. That thing had been killing people for years, and it deserved death. “If you don't mind, though, I'd like to go back to the motel room and get that shower and change out of these clothes. I don't think vampire blood is a good look on me.”

Sam blushed. “Yeah, yeah, we can definitely do that. Right, Dean?”

Dean started. “Hm? Yeah, sure. Can we get food somewhere, too?”

We slid into the car and headed back towards the motel. There was a great little greasy spoon place on the way, and I was pretty sure that they could find something to eat there. As a bonus, the waitstaff was so jaded they probably would barely even notice my stained blouse. As we pulled into the parking lot at the diner, my phone rang. Sam and Dean exchanged looks as I dug through my purse to find it. I looked at the caller ID and answered, “Hi mom. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, I'm heading up to the mountains for a few days. Needed a break. Uh-huh. I'll probably stop by, yeah. No, Bitty's taken care of. Uh-huh. Love you too. Bye.” As I hung up, I caught an odd glance from Sam out of the corner of my eye.

“What's up, Sam? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Sam laughed nervously as he sat down and said, “I'm just not used to seeing – or hearing – such a normal parent-child relationship.”

I shrugged. “We aren't really normal. When my dad left, she got really depressed and I was away at school. My little brother was basically on his own for a while, and I ran the house and raised him whenever I could make it home. He ended up trying to kill himself at the age of eleven and being sent to the psych ward. That snapped her out of it, but I had been the adult for so long it was hard to go back to being her kid. We fought like crazy for a few years, but we've settled into a relationship where we're more close friends, rather than mother and daughter. It's weird.”

Sam shook his head wistfully. “I never knew my mother, and my dad – well, he raised us to be hunters. There was no time for the kind of relationship building you and your mom did.”

The waitress set our orders down in front of us, giving my blood covered blouse an odd look. Then she shrugged and walked away. _Called it._

I smiled softly. “I know I'm lucky. I have a fantastic relationship with my mother.” The I grinned and added, “And a tolerable one with my father, and an agreement with my brother where we try not to kill each other when parental units are in view.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, Dean and I have always been close, but that doesn't stop me from occasionally wanting to punch him in the nose.”

Dean snorted and we ate the rest of our meal in amiable silence, then continued back to the motel.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I grabbed the small bag I had packed specifically for this excursion and hopped out of the car. Once we entered the motel room, I made a beeline for the bathroom, shedding layers the whole way. I'm pretty sure the boys got a glimpse of me in my tank top and underwear before I made it into the bathroom, but I didn't care. I was filthy and my clothes were covered in blood and other grossness from the vampire Sam had killed. I hopped in the shower, performed my ablutions, and dried off with the last clean towel. I pulled on the clothes I had set aside and pulled my hair back, as well as putting in my contacts for the first time in months.

When I opened the door, I looked nothing like the stereotypical librarian Sam had rescued from a vampire in front of her suburban apartment. I was wearing dark, boot-cut jeans with a leather belt and stag head belt buckle, along with brown cowboy boots and a purple Western Carolina University t-shirt. The jeans fit snugly around my hips and butt, while the just-too-small t-shirt pulled across my chest and stomach; I'd gained a little weight since I'd last worn this getup. My auburn hair had been tamed into a ponytail and pulled through the back of my John Deere camo cap, which matched the light jacket I was wearing. My outfit practically screamed, 'I have ridden a horse, tractor, and/or cowboy at some point in the last week.' 

Both men looked up as the door opened, then did simultaneous double takes. I thought I even saw Dean's eyes run up and down my body, but I shook off the idea – why would he be interested in dumpy little me, except as an asset to his adventures? Ignoring the shocked blinking from the brothers, I sat down at the table where Sam kept his laptop. “Okay, how do we want to do this? Brown Mountain is about two hours from here. Are we going to keep circling back, or do you want to get a room up there and just stay?”

Dean said immediately, “Get a new room. I am not driving round trip.”

Sam agreed, “Yeah, that definitely makes more sense.”

I nodded. “I agree. Okay. So the nearest two towns to Brown Mountain are Marion and Linville Falls. Unfortunately, since Linville Falls is too small for a motel, that leaves us with the slim pickings in Marion and surrounding areas. I know there's a place in Marion that should suit your - ” I looked around the room, “- needs.

Ignoring my subtle jab, Dean leaned into the computer, crowding my personal space. “Hey, what's this?” He pointed to a symbol on the map I had pulled up, much closer to Brown Mountain than Marion was.

I looked and responded, “That's a campground.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then turned back to me. I read them immediately.

“No. Absolutely not. I am not camping. I don't do nature.”

Dean seemed to be about to argue but I raised an eyebrow at him, silently reminding him that he and his brother had dragged me into this against my will. Six years of working in libraries made my single raised eyebrow an intimidating work of art, and he quickly backed down.

“Look,” he muttered, scratching his head, “We usually don't do the whole planning thing. We just drive until we see a motel, then check in. If there isn't one, we camp or sleep in the car.”

My eyebrow stayed raised. “Uh-huh. Well, I don't camp, and I'm not trying to sleep in a car with you two giants.”

Sam tried to compromise. “What if we camped and you slept in the car?”

I slowly lowered my eyebrow. “That would be...acceptable, I suppose. You'd better have pillows and blankets.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As we headed up I-40 towards the mountain, I settled into the backseat. “So, y'all want to ask the locals what they know about Brown Mountain. If you don't have some other plan or contact, my grandmother lives on the way up there.”

Sam turned around in the passenger seat and looked at me. “You were serious about having 'kin' up there?”

I grinned. “Yeah, 'course I was. So how do you want to do this? The only other time I've ever brought anyone to her place, it was that – thing, and he was my boyfriend.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Dean answered, “Well then, I guess one of us is your boyfriend. I volunteer!” He glanced in the rearview mirror and winked at me.

I laughed and shook my head. “No, honey, you're not my type. You're too flirty, and she knows I've had trouble with cheaters in the past. I think Sam would be a better choice. Since she is super religious, PDA will be nonexistent, so it shouldn't even really be awkward. And besides, Dean, I'm crazy, remember? I'm sure you don't want to be closer to me than you have to.”

From what I could see in the mirror, Dean actually looked vaguely ashamed. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, but I cut him off.

“Oh, and I have a very attractive female cousin who will likely show her face. Do NOT flirt with her. Her fiance is bigger than Sam here.”

Dean actually turned around and looked at me. “You've met someone bigger than Sam? Like, an actual human?”

We were starting to slow down and drift towards the other lane. “Eyes on the road, idiot!” I yelled, as an 18-wheeler blew past us blaring its horn.

Dean jerked back around. “Shit! Sorry!”

I pulled out my phone and dialed my grandmother, letting her know I'd made an impromptu trip into the mountains with my boyfriend and his brother, and would she mind horribly if we visited for a bit? No, of course she wouldn't, y'all stop on by and stay a minute.

I hung up and leaned back into the leather seat. “Okay, that takes care of that.” I stared out the window, lulled into a vaguely hypnotic state by the familiar scenery, trying to fight the terror that was slowly taking over my mind. When I couldn't fight the panic anymore, I spoke again. “What about when we get deeper into the mountains?”

Sam looked uncertain, then said, “Well, our usual story is to go with being FBI agents -”

I cut him off. “No. The mountain folk have long memories, and they remember the feds coming after the stills back during Prohibition. You say you're a fed and everyone will be just as polite to you as you could want, but you won't get a thing from them.”

Sam didn't seem to mind my interruption, but Dean looked in the mirror and scowled. “So what's your plan then, Kat?”

I snickered. “See, this is why you need someone familiar with the area. Western Carolina University, which is on the t-shirt I'm wearing, offers a master's degree in Cherokee history. It would not be at all unusual for three students to be tromping around asking questions about Brown Mountain, and since it's an advanced degree, our ages shouldn't be a problem. However, most graduate students at WCU are locals, so y'all are still going to have to let me do most of the talking. If you want law enforcement reports on the deaths, FBI is a good idea, but otherwise no one will talk to feds.”

“Okay,” Dean started, “that's great, but -”

“Shit!” I shrieked. “Exit! Exit, here, now!”

Dean swerved across the other lane of traffic and flew down the exit ramp, stopping just short of rear-ending a pickup truck at the light.

“Jesus, Kat!” he swore. “A little more warning next time!”

I winced. “Sorry.”

I directed them through the maze of back roads that led to my grandmother's place. As we parked in the gravel driveway, I said, “Grandma will drop hints about me getting married. Don't bite. Sam, hold my hand, but that's it. No hugs, no pecks on the cheek, nothing. And Dean, for the love of God, do not take the Lord's name in vain while we're here!”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, let's get this party started.”


	3. Grandmothers, Tourists, and Men That Might Be Kind of Growing on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been added to! I had to rearrange some plot points and a scene ended up fitting better in this chapter than the one I had planned. Make sure to read it again!

The visit with my grandmother was as excruciating as expected. She kept handing me wedding magazines she had saved “jest in case, honey,” and then giving Sam the side-eye. My cousin did stick her pretty head in, but only for long enough to say hi and give “my boyfriend” an appraising look; Dean didn't even get a chance to open his mouth. However, when I finally managed to work the conversation around to the Brown Mountain lights, my grandmother was surprisingly knowledgeable. I soon discovered why.

“Honey, didn't your momma tell you? The poor girl what got murdered, she was kin to us! Her name was Elizabeth Pope, my great-great-great-grandfather's wife. Everybody said Willie killed her, too. I don't know why he would've, though, with her leavin' a young'un behind. He ended up havin' to raise that child by himself, and there ain't no man what wants to do that.”

Dean leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Seriously? Are you related to everyone around here?”

I muffled a giggle and whispered back, “Yeah, probably.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat back into the couch, while I leaned forward. “Grandma, have you heard about anything – well, weird, going on around there? Besides the lights, of course.”

She frowned. “Do you mean those people that keep dyin'? It's been happenin' since poor Lizzie died, I hear, and more people every twenty years.”

Dean and Sam both sat bolt upright.

“Um, I'm sorry, ma'am, but would you mind telling us a little bit about those deaths?” Sam said hesitantly.

Grandma looked at me suspiciously. “Why are y'all so interested in Brown Mountain?”

I laughed and said, “Okay, you caught us. You know I'm working on that degree in North American history, and I'm writing my thesis on archaeological finds in the Appalachians. Sam and Dean here are grad students in Cherokee history at WCU, and I met Sam on an archaeological dig up towards Boone. I told Sam I knew the area and would be happy to show him around and introduce him to someone to knew a little about the lights. We're trying to mix business with pleasure.”

She sat back in her chair, apparently satisfied with my explanation. “Well, I don't know too terrible much about the newer ones, since the police tend to take care of that now. But I heard from my grandmother who heard it from her grandmother, that people started dyin' on the mountain around 1875. The first few times everyone thought it was an accident. Some poor man had tripped and fell down a ditch into a creek, some other man had fell off a cliff, and so on. But around 1915, folks started to whisperin' that maybe there might be a haint up there at Linville Gorge, and that maybe it might be Lizzie. See, only young men had died, even though plenty of women wander those woods. And every twenty years, like she was relivin' her life between kills – she was only twenty when she died, poor thing – she'd take one more man than the last time. Like she was tryin' to get revenge on the man that killed her.”

“The first ones I remember was in 1955. I was fifteen. We heard that two young hikers had got themselves lost in the woods, and they'd sent search parties after them. A few days later, they found the bodies in the bottom of Linville Gorge, but by then, everyone was talkin' about the young man who had killed himself by jumpin' off the edge of the gorge. Wasn't two days after that that twin brothers, twenty-five, were found drowned in the Linville River, and it was pretty clear they'd fell off the edge of the gorge too. Then there was nothin', no more deaths, not until October 12, 1975. You can probably ask your momma about this, child, she was fifteen when it happened. A teacher at the high school and three of his college friends were found at the bottom of the gorge, all four of them twenty-five years old; Lizzie musta thought she'd struck gold. Then a young preacher was supposed to have jumped off the edge of the gorge – and that set folks round here to talkin'. Ain't no preacher gonna condemn his soul to hellfire by killin' himself. When the sixth man died, a hunter who looked like he had tripped and fell backward over the edge, we all kinda knew, and no local man under thirty went near Brown Mountain again, 'specially not one that was exactly twenty-five. That didn't bother Lizzie none, though, 'cause we were startin' to become a tourist attraction, 'cause of the leaves, you see. So these poor men who didn't know about Lizzie would take a hike up Brown Mountain – and they all came back, jest fine, except the seven who died in October 1995.”

She sighed, and looked down at her gnarled hands. “It's the second week of October now, and it's Lizzie's year to kill again. I saw the papers, of course, about those four men who fell from Wiseman's View. They always die by fallin', you know and they're always twenty-five, just the age Willie was when Lizzie disappeared.” She looked up sharply. “Y'all ain't plannin' on going up there, are you?” She eyed the boys.

Since Dean was still clearly absorbing Grandma's story, Sam cleared his throat and said, “Well, yes ma'am, we were, but I don't think the ghost will have a problem with us.”

My grandmother narrowed her eyes at them. “Be that as it may, I don't think it's real wise to tempt her.”

I jumped in quickly. “It's all right, Grandma, we'll keep away from Wiseman's View and be real careful, okay?”

She still looked dubious, but nodded slowly.

Dean jerked back to the present. “Wait, ma'am, did you say she only kills the second week of October?”

Grandma looked surprised, since Dean hadn't addressed her beyond a brief greeting when we arrived. “I did indeed, the second full week of October. The first is always on a Sunday and the last is always a Saturday.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other again. The first article had been published on Monday, the day after the tourist had died, and today was Wednesday.

Something else hit Sam. “Mrs. McLamb, did you say four tourists?

My grandmother nodded sadly. “Yes, honey, they found another body early this morning. The news man said he had a little boy at home.”

We exchanged a few more mindless pleasantries and pointed comments about diamond rings, then headed back out to the Impala. As I settled into the backseat, I smirked at Dean. “So, think you could have gotten that by being an FBI agent?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, fine, you were right. Now how do we get to the mountain? This Lizzie chick's got four more people to kill, if my math is right.”

I did some quick figuring in my head but before I'd finished, Sam said “Yeah. Total of eight.”

I looked at the time. “It's too late to get there before sunset, and I personally don't want to wander around a 2,000 foot drop in the dark. Maybe we should head to the campground instead? I know we're under a time limit, but I really don't want to risk Lizzie changing her victim pattern and going after you two.”

After a brief pause, Dean said, “Okay, whatever,” and handed Sam a map. “Campground's here,” he grunted, and pointed at the paper.

I pulled up the GPS on my phone, put the address in, and handed it to Sam. “Here, try this, it'll be easier. I'm taking a nap.” I rested my head against the window and drifted off to the sound of the brothers whispering to each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up when I felt the car come to a stop. Opening my eyes, I stretched and looked around. Sam and Dean had managed to pick the campsite farthest from the bathrooms and showers, because of course they had. As I climbed out of the car, wincing as my stiff legs complained, I saw Sam and Dean setting up one of the most enormous tents I had ever seen. I was pretty sure they would both be able to lie down with their legs stretched out, and it was probably tall enough for even Sam to stand up straight.

Sam was the first to notice that I had emerged from the car. “Good morning, sunshine,” he teased gently.

I smiled at him. “That is a gigantic tent. It must have been incredibly expensive.”

Dean looked up from pounding a tent peg into the ground and shrugged. “Nah, we got it used. It leaks some in the rain, but it's not supposed to rain tonight.”

I looked up at the sky, and it was clear. The sunset over the mountains was so beautiful I briefly got lost in the view, before I shook myself and came back to reality. “I mean, it's clear now,” I said doubtfully, “but this is fall in the South. The weather can change pretty abruptly.”

Dean waved a hand in dismissal. “We'll be fine.”

Determined to prove him wrong, I pulled out my phone to check the weather, but it had gasped out its last bit of power directing us to the campground. I shrugged and decided to take his word for it. “Okay. Is there food? And an outlet?”

“Yes to food, no to electricity. Is your phone dead?” Sam said, coming from around the back of the tent. I nodded. He was holding two cans of chili and a saucepan, along with a box of matches. “Dean, will you go get some wood so I can build a fire? It's going to get dark pretty soon.”

Dean huffed. “Why do I always have to go get the wood? Why can't I build the fire?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Because the only fire you know how to build is a bonfire, and I don't think the park rangers would appreciate that.”

Dean sulked off into the woods, muttering under his breath about bossy know-it-all little brothers, while Sam began carefully encircling the firepit with stones. He looked up at me and said softly, “Hey Kat, how are you handling this?”

I laughed. “This what? The camping? I think we've already covered -”

Sam interrupted me. “No, everything. The vampire, the skinwalker, the ghost...”

I bit my lip hard. I couldn't collapse yet, we had to take care of the Brown Mountain ghost. “I'm fine,” I said shortly, examining a very interesting patch of grass at my feet so Sam wouldn't notice the tears welling up in my eyes.

Sam sounded concerned as he asked, “Are you sure? It's a lot to -”

I whipped my head up and snapped, “I said I'm fine.”

Sam held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, you're fine, I get it,” he said soothingly. “but if you decide you're not, you come to me, okay?”

I nodded once and went back over to the Impala, pretending to be looking for something in my bags. How had he gone from kidnapper to comforter in the space of 24 hours?

Just as the silence between Sam and I was beginning to get unbearably awkward, Dean came trudging back to the campsite with an armful of firewood. Obviously grateful for the interruption, Sam began to carefully build the fire. His job done, Dean wandered over to me. He grinned and opened his mouth, probably preparing an innuendo-laden comment, but noticed the miserable look on my face. His expression immediately changed to one of concern, and he said, “Kat, are you -”

I'd had enough of these men, who had dragged me into this in the first place, inquiring after my mental health. “I'm fine, okay?!” I yelled. “I'm just fan-fucking-tastic! There's no reason for me not to be, right? After all, getting attacked by mythical creatures, discovering my cat is a skinwalker, having my life fall apart – that's perfectly normal! Happens all the damn time! Oh, and the cretins who kidnapped me think I'm fucking crazy, which is just the best strategy for getting my help!”

Wisely, Sam focused on stirring the chili, pretending the hysterical woman to his right didn't exist, and probably thanking every deity he knew of that I was screaming at Dean and not at him. Dean took a step back, clearly not expecting such a violent response. "Look, Kat -"

Suddenly, all the rage washed out of me, leaving only a bone-deep exhaustion. I interrupted dully, “I'm tired. Can we just eat and go to sleep, please?”

The chili was consumed out of disposable bowls in silence with both men looking at me warily, expecting another explosion. It would have been funny if I weren't so drained. I threw my empty bowl in the box we were putting trash in and yawned ostentatiously. “I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll lock the car once I get in, so I should be relatively safe, since y'all are so worried about my safety.”

Sam stood up quickly and headed towards the car with me. “Dean made some modifications to the seats,” he explained. “When we have to sleep in the car, with us being so tall, it's hard to try to fit us both in with the seats in the regular position.” He reached in the front door and pulled a lever under the seat, then pushed on the back. The seat unfolded and laid completely flat; when combined with the rear bench, it was about the width of a full bed, although obviously still too short for either of the guys to sleep in complete comfort.

I raised my eyebrows, surprise briefly overcoming my lethargy. “That's...actually kind of ingenious,” I admitted. “Thanks, Sam.”

He smiled softly at me. “No problem, Kat. Sleep well.” He handed me two blankets and a small pillow out of the trunk, then grabbed a sleeping bag and hauled it off towards the tent. Dean was apparently trying to lay his out without being stabbed by a rock, judging by the shadows and cursing I observed in the tent.

I fell asleep to the sound of the campfire popping as it slowly burned out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~

I was rudely awakened by a rush of cold air as my blankets were jerked away. I groaned and reached behind me, blindly groping for my warm, lovely - 

“Wake up, Kat!” Dean exclaimed cheerfully. I craned my head around and looked muzzily at him, then buried my head under the pillow and tried to wish him away. His hand landed on my shoulder and shook me relentlessly, making absolutely sure there was no way I was going to doze off again. I seriously considered seeing if I could bring my head around fast enough to bite him, but decided that was way too much effort this early in the morning.

“How the hell are you so cheerful this early in the goddamn morning?” I growled, muffled by the pillow that was still over my head.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't hear you,” he replied, his voice coated in sugar.

I hated him. I hated him so much.

I finally sat up, pushing my unruly hair out of my face and glaring so hard at the jerk I was surprised he didn't burst into flames. When I finally looked past him, I realized the sun was barely up, but Sam had already built a fire and was cooking something over it. “Oh my God, I realize we're under some pressure, but it is like 6 in the morning. How are you two already so...awake?”

Dean shrugged. “I woke up about thirty minutes ago, woke Sam up, broke the tent down, got wood, built the fire.” I closed my eyes. I really hated morning people. Really, truly, devoutly hated morning people. I was one of those people who stayed up until five a.m., then woke up at one. 

I didn't realize I was dozing off again until Dean caught my shoulder and kept me from falling over. “Wow,” he said, looking at the obvious signs of drowsiness I was displaying. “You really don't do mornings, do you?”

“No. No, I don't,” I said, yawning so hard my jaw cracked.

He looked at me quizzically. “How did you hold down a job?”

“I usually worked the evening shift,” I answered, suppressing another yawn. “Day before yesterday was an anomaly. If I had to be up before six in the morning, I usually just didn't go to sleep at all.”

“You know that's terrible for you,” Sam called from over by the fire.

I rolled my eyes and stumbled out of the car. “Yes mom, I know. Do you have any coffee? Please tell me you have coffee.”

“Ah, sorry,” Sam said apologetically. “No coffee.”

Seriously? Ugh. “You should probably find some,” I said, rubbing my hands over my face. “I am going to be a nightmare until I get some freaking caffeine.”

Dean snickered. “Sweetheart, you haven't exactly been a bundle of joy so far.”

I looked at him and replied, “Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet. I've been an absolute dream compared to me without caffeine.”

Dean actually looked vaguely alarmed. “Uh, we'll stop at a convenience store and get you a soda or something, okay?”

I sighed. “Yeah, that'll work. Sam, how much longer until -” I peeked into the pot - “the oatmeal is ready?”

Sam looked down and said, “It's not, like, quick oats or anything, so it'll probably be another fifteen minutes or so.”

“Okay, great. I'm going to go take a shower.” I grabbed clothes and toiletries out of the bag in the trunk and headed towards the showers.

When I returned, wearing the exact same outfit as yesterday except that my t-shirt was gold instead of purple, Sam was spooning oatmeal into paper bowls.

“Careful, it's hot,” he cautioned as he handed me a spoon and a steaming bowl.

I sat down on the ground near the fire and looked at the bowl suspiciously. I didn't really like oatmeal, but I also didn't want to be any more obnoxious than I'd already been, so I gingerly tasted the stuff.

“Hey, this is really good!” I blurted out, then blushed and looked down. “I mean, uh, I don't really like oatmeal, and, um...”

Sam took pity and cut me off. “I put brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a couple other things in it. Dean doesn't really like oatmeal either, so I have to hide the taste as much as possible to get him to eat it.”

I smiled up at him and continued eating, actually enjoying oatmeal for the first time in my life. Just as I scraped up the last bits of cereal, Dean stood up and tossed his bowl into the fire. He stretched his arms over his head and looked expectantly at me. “Okay, where are we going?”

Sam spread a map out in front of us.

“Okay,” he said, “I ran up to the office and grabbed this before you woke up.” He blew out a breath. “The guy there said they found another body this morning.” He pulled a pen out of his pocket. “Here is our campsite, and here is Wiseman's View.” He drew two dark circles around the locations. “The guy at the office said to take Highway 183 to Old Highway 105, and that Wiseman's View would be about four miles up.” Sam drew a line along the route. “He said it would take us about twenty, twenty-five minutes to get there.”

I frowned. “Yeah it would, if we were driving a four-wheel-drive SUV. Old Highway 105 is gravel and poorly maintained. The bottom of the Impala would be scraped completely off by the time we got to the overlook parking lot, if we made it there at all.”

“We are not risking Baby,” Dean said before Sam could open his mouth.

“Look,” Sam said. “There are four parking lots leading up to the overlook, and the road gets worse the farther you go. Let's just go until the road gets too rough for the car, then park and hike the rest of the way. It's four miles from the intersection with 183, so we know it'll at least be less than four miles. It'll probably be closer to two.”

I winced. This was gonna suck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sure enough, I was right. While two miles was not normally that far for me to walk, a hike uphill and through rough terrain was a whole different animal, even with my promised Coke. Especially considering that I had to take two steps for every one of Sam's, and that the closest thing I had to hiking boots was a pair of gym shoes. By the time we reached the short trail leading to the overlook, I was panting and had a serious cramp in my side. 

I collapsed on a bench at the trailhead and tried to catch my breath, gulping air as fast as I could. Much to my surprise, Dean sat down next to me, and he was breathing hard too. Sam, however, seemed to be barely winded, and looked at us smugly. When I looked over at Dean, he laughed breathlessly. “Sam likes to go for runs and shit, but I prefer to sit and watch TV. Guess that's catching up to me now.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Sam said pointedly.

“Just go ahead and look around,” Dean said. “We'll catch up in a few.” Sam nodded and headed down the trail.

I put my head between my knees and tried to breathe slowly. I felt a hand on my back, then Dean asked, “Are you okay, Kat? Not gonna pass out on me?”

I looked up and managed a smile. “I'm good. Just give me a minute.”

Once I had gotten enough of my breath back to talk, I asked Dean, “So what exactly are we looking for? I mean, I get that y'all want to look around, but what for?”

“Anything weird.”

I rolled my eyes. “So specific.”

He shrugged, apparently not taking offense. “Anything that seems off can help us.” He hesitated, then said slowly, "Look, Kat, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't really mean what I said yesterday, about you being crazy."

I sighed. "Okay. Whatever." I heaved myself off the bench, then turned and looked at him. “You ready to go?”

He gave me a hard look, but apparently decided not to belabor the issue. “Yeah. Let's go.”

The trail to the overlook was actually pretty smooth and easy. Sam was reading the display on the Brown Mountain Lights with every evidence of interest, despite the fact that I knew there was nothing on it I hadn't already told him. Unfortunately, he was not alone. 

“Why are there so many people here?” he said muttered as we reached him.

“It's the middle of leaf season, Sam,” I replied. “There are probably people here from all over the country.”

“To see leaves?” Dean said in disbelief.

“Have either of you boys actually looked at the mountains yet?” I asked. They both turned and looked, and I heard the simultaneous intakes of breath as they took in the view.

“Wow,” Sam said softly.

It truly was a beautiful sight. The ridges were covered in a canopy of red, orange, and gold, and the colors stretched as far as you could see. I looked out over my mountains and sighed; I'd moved to the flatlands to take my dream job, but my heart had always stayed in the hills.

I snapped back to reality when I heard a woman call to her children, “Stay away from the edge!” I pulled myself away from the view and turned around to survey the crowd of people.

“Okay,” Dean said under his breath. “Game plan?”

“There are enough tourists here that y'all can probably get away with asking some questions,” I said. “When everyone sounds wrong, nobody does. Why don't Sam and I go talk to some people, and Dean, you can look around for anything 'weird.'”

“Sounds good,” Sam said before Dean could reply. “Where should we start?”

I looked around for a likely target. “There,” I said, pointing to a group of guys. “They're about the right age.”

“Looks good,” Sam said, and set off, threading his way through the crowd. I stayed close behind him, fitting nicely into the wake he left. As we approached the guys, he grabbed my hand. I looked at him oddly and started to speak, but he shushed me and whispered, “Trust me.” He led me over to stand right next to the group then said, ostensibly to me but just a shade too loudly, “Did you hear they found another body yesterday? That makes what, four?”

One of the guys beside us couldn't resist. “No, man,” he said. “Didn't you hear? There was another one this morning!”

Sam feigned shock. “No way! What happened?”

The guy grinned, happy to display his superior knowledge. “He jumped off the overlook! Like, right here!” He lowered his voice. “People are starting to freak out, like maybe they aren't accidents. But what else could it be, right?” He laughed. “A ghost?”

Sam laughed with him. “I know, right?”

I jumped in. “We're actually working on a paper about this area. Do y'all know anything about the Brown Mountain legends?”

The guy looked at me in surprise, finally registering that I was something more than decoration for Sam's arm. “Uh, no, not really. We're from Maryland. We just drove down to see the leaves.” He shrugged. “Figured it was as good an excuse for a road trip as any. Good luck on your paper.” One of his friends yelled, and he turned and headed towards the rest of his group.

I sighed. “Swing and a miss.”

Sam looked at me encouragingly. “No problem, let's go try that group over there.” He pointed at a group of couples. Unfortunately, they weren't from the area either. Nor was the next person, or the next person, or the next person...

Finally, we gave up and headed dejectedly back towards Dean. He stood up from a crouch when he saw us, dusting his hands off on his pants. “Any luck?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. “None. They're all tourists. Did you find anything?”

Dead nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Come look at this.” Sam and I both lowered ourselves to the ground next to Dean, making sure we were blocked by the display board. “There's something wedged in between these rocks. I can't reach it cause my hands are too big, but I think it might be something.”

I looked at his hands, then at mine. “Here, let me try. I have smaller hands.”

Dean obligingly scooted over and I slipped my hand into the crack, fishing around until I felt something smooth. I began slowly working it out, millimeter by millimeter, until it fell onto the stone floor.

“Is that a finger bone?” I asked in shock.

“Yeah,” Sam said, scooping it up and rising in one quick movement. “I bet it's Lizzie's. Explains why she's focused on Wiseman's View. It must have gotten wedged in during construction. How did you even know it was there?”

“EMF,” Dean said, tucking a small device with an antenna back into his pocket.

I frowned. “Wait, what?”

“We'll explain on the way back to the car,” Dean said.

During the two mile hike – downhill this time, at least – the boys explained to me that a ghost could only stay on this plane if their remains were still here, and they haunted the area around those remains. The only way to get rid of the spirit was to salt and burn the remains. EMF signal usually showed up around hauntings, and Dean had just followed it to where it was strongest to find the bone.

“But what about the rest of her bones?” I asked. “There's no way we'll be able to find those. She just disappeared in the mountains – there's no grave or anything.”

The guys looked grim. “I know,” Sam said. “I'm hoping she's haunting just this bone, since the deaths have only been on Wiseman's View since it's been built. That would make life a lot easier. If not...” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Sam had dug up a car charger that fit my phone, and I set it to charge on the way back to the campsite. We stopped at another diner on our way back as well, where Sam and I ordered salads and Dean ordered a bacon cheeseburger. When the food arrived, Dean dove into his burger while making loud, derogatory comments about “rabbit food.” I ignored him, although Sam made a few jabs back about cholesterol and hardened arteries. It was actually a surprisingly good salad, for a diner, and I felt way more comfortable around these men than I should have. I'd only known them two days, so why did it feel like I'd known them for years?

Once we got back to the campsite and I had convinced Dean to leave the car running for a little bit so my phone would charge, I flopped down across the front seat and closed my eyes. In just a minute, I'd get out of the car and go sit with the guys. In just a minute...

Dean woke me up by slamming open the door. “Oh my God I hate you,” I mumbled.

“You sleep a lot, Kat. I turned the car off two hours ago.” I could hear the concern in his voice. “Is this normal for you?”

I sighed inwardly. Was this the time to address the scars on my thighs or the pills I took every morning? I didn't think they'd noticed the meds yet, although the panic attack outside my townhouse had been hard to miss.

“Yeah, it's normal,” I said, sitting up and stifling a yawn. “I've always needed more sleep than average.” I wasn't up to that discussion right now, especially since Dean already thought I was bonkers. Maybe they'd set me up somewhere with my library and an Internet connection and they'd never have to know.

Dean seemed to accept my explanation. “We took care of the bone a while ago, and now Sam's cooking some kind of soup or something. He said it'd be ready in about forty-five minutes. You want to come out here and rejoin the world?”

I grabbed my phone and slid out of the car. “Sure.” I headed towards the fire and sat down, absently turning on my phone and flipping through my email. I had to be burning data like crazy. Whatever. I'd probably have to get rid of my cell plan soon anyway.

While Dean and Sam argued about something on the other side of the fire, I tuned them out and wondered about what my grandmother had said, about Lizzie being related to me. Her obsession with genealogy had passed down to me, although weakened, and I was curious about what had happened to Willie and their son. I pulled up the family tree I had created through a genealogy website and scrolled through it until I hit Willie and Lizzie. I frowned as I noticed that Willie had actually been twenty-three when Lizzie disappeared, not twenty-five like Grandma had said. That was odd. Well, maybe someone had gotten his birthdate wrong. I tapped through to all the info the site had on Lizzie, and discovered a gold mine – they had diary pages!

I only looked up from my reading when Sam tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a bowl of soup that smelled absolutely delicious. “What's so interesting?” he asked, sitting down next to me with his own bowl.

“Well,” I said, “You know how my grandma said Lizzie was related to us?” He nodded. “I was curious, so I pulled up a family tree I made a long time ago and looked her up. The site actually had her diary on file, and I was reading through it. It's fascinating stuff, surprisingly, and full of drama. Apparently Willie was boring and gone all the time, and they never had enough money. Moreover, she had a lover, some guy named John Russell. She was planning to leave Willie and run off with this guy. And something else I found – Willie was twenty-three when she disappeared, according to this site. Not twenty-five. ”

“Huh,” Sam said. “Maybe they got his birthdate wrong.” 

“That's exactly what I thought,” I said. “It's the only thing that makes sense.”

Sam shrugged. “Hopefully it doesn't matter, and we don't have to deal with Lizzie any more. We can go ahead and find you some place to live and do research for us.” He smiled at me.

“Oh, you're so sure I'll accept your offer to be your pet researcher?” I teased. I had already decided I would. I could probably create a new life somewhere else under a different name, but I was starting to care about these boys and I wanted to help them.

Sam looked taken aback, then relaxed as he realized I was joking. “Hey, it'll be fun! Books, Internet, two hot guys occasionally dropping by to make sure you haven't gone insane...”

“What makes you think I'm not already insane?” I shot back. It was only mostly a joke.

Sam laughed, and Dean came over demanding to know what was so funny. He sat down next to me, sandwiching me between the boys, and we talked and laughed until the sun went down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up on my own the next morning, much earlier than I usually did. I got out of the car and walked over to the boys' tent, peeking inside to find that Sam was gone, but Dean was still fast asleep. He looked so sweet and innocent, lying there like that, with his face relaxed and soft.

I snickered. Let's see if I could take a little revenge for my rude awakening yesterday morning. I looked around, trying to decide what to do, then looked speculatively at the tent. If I untied this here, and loosened this here, and popped this out of its little socket...

Dean woke up flailing and yelling when the tent came down on him. By the time he had extricated himself from the fabric, I was laughing so hard I'd collapsed on the ground, howling every time a choice phrase came out of the deconstructed tent. When he dragged himself out and spotted me giggling, his face darkened and he stormed over to me, glaring down at me where I was curled over in amusement. He was obviously furious, and yet every time I looked up at him new waves of laughter hit me and I cackled even louder.

By the time Sam made it back to the campsite, Dean's hands were flexing and his biceps tensing, obviously fighting the urge to pick me up off the ground and shake me. I was still crying with laughter, and Sam took one look at the scene – the collapsed tent, my laughter, and Dean's anger – and he broke into a smile. In just a few minutes he was laughing too, causing Dean to whip around and stare at him.

“Seriously, man?” he said. “Seriously? You think this is funny?”

Sam said between snickers, “It's hilarious, dude, admit it. Especially considering how rudely you woke her up yesterday.”

By this time, my laughter had calmed down to the point I could speak coherently. “The only reason I didn't just yank your sleeping bag off you is that I was afraid you weren't wearing proper clothing underneath. I though the tent was an acceptable compromise.” I started giggling again.

Dean's face darkened further, then the corners of his mouth started to twitch. He tried to fight it, but eventually a grin spread itself across his features, and he unbent enough to chuckle. “Okay, fine. I deserved a little payback. Sammy, let's go finish breaking down this thing and get a move on.”

Sam set down the newspaper I hadn't even noticed he was carrying next to me and went to help Dean with the tent. As the last of my laughter left me, I picked up the paper and glanced at the front page. I stopped, frowned, and looked again, then felt my blood turn to ice. The front page headline read: 

BODY OF HIKER MISSING SINCE YESTERDAY FOUND EARLY THIS MORNING  
SIXTH DEATH NEAR LINVILLE GORGE SINCE SUNDAY

“Guys?” I called, my voice trembling. “We have a problem.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After I got over my brief panic, we decided to brainstorm and figure out what we knew that could be of help in finding the rest of Lizzie's bones. This body had been found about a mile away from Wiseman's View, so she had broken her pattern. Sam brought up what I had been reading the night before, pointing out that maybe her diary held more clues to finding her remains. “Kat, would you mind staying here and reading through the rest of that?” he asked. “Maybe she'll give us an idea about Willie's favorite places or something. Dean and I will head back out to the gorge and pull the FBI card, see if we can get some more information from local law enforcement about the deaths. We'll probably be gone for a while, so don't worry.”

I nodded in agreement. No way was I up to another hike, and I was really kind of disinclined to go near an active crime scene anyway. “Keep your phones on you, okay?” I asked. “If I find anything relevant, I'll call.” The guys agreed and headed off towards the mountain.

I sat down with my back against a tree, opened Lizzie's diary up again, and began to read. I only looked up when my stomach began to rumble, and I decided to take a quick break, stretch my legs, and find something to eat. My phone said it was about one, so I meandered towards the campground office in the hope that they sold some sort of food. My luck was in – they did sell convenience-type snacks, so I picked up a bag of chips and a Coke and headed back towards the campsite, munching along the way.

I sat back down under the tree and resumed my reading. Lizzie's handwriting was getting messier, and having to focus on uploaded scans of the diary on the small screen of my phone was making my head hurt. Then an entry caught my eye:

“I am fairly certain I am with child. Since Willie has been away for these past three months, it will be difficult to explain when he comes home. John and I shall have to move more quickly with our plans. I will speak with him about it tonight.”

I read further: “John has agreed to leaving sooner than originally planned, although he does not seem to be as pleased as I am about the new addition to our family. He recommends leaving tomorrow night, under the cover of darkness, and simply disappearing into the woods. He assures me that he has wealthy family that will assist us in procuring my divorce and a new marriage license. I truly do not want to leave young William behind, but he would hamper our escape. I am sure his father will marry again, and he will never remember me.”

As I moved on to the next entry, I realized that it was also the final one. “John and I will meet at the peak of Eagle Rock, then make our escape towards his family in the south. I am to bring all my valuables and savings so that we may begin our new life. I am so looking forward to beginning a family with him!”

I looked up from my phone, slowly absorbing what I had just read. Then I frantically began looking for information on John Russell to confirm a forming theory.

Russell had lived for a short time in the same small village as Willie and Lizzie. Before that, he had been arrested for seducing a woman and charming her out of her savings, but the woman had eventually dropped the charges out of embarrassment. A picture began to form in my head, and I searched for his birth certificate – yes. John Russell was twenty-five when Lizzie disappeared.

I quickly called Sam. “Hey guys, I've got something.”

“Yeah?” Sam said. “I'm putting you on speaker.”

“Okay, so I told Sam that Lizzie was planning on running away with her lover,” I began. “But she found out she was pregnant, and Willie had been gone for months, so they had to move their timetable up. It looks like when she told told him about the pregnancy that he wasn't real happy about it, but he agreed to move faster and they set a date for their escape. They were going to meet at the highest point of Eagle Rock with all their savings and head south towards his family. Now this guy, her lover, had a history of seducing women and running off with their money. My theory is that he was planning to do the same to Lizzie, but when she came up pregnant, he figured he needed to take care of her in a more permanent way. So they met up and he pushed her off the edge of the cliff, then took her savings and fled. I can't find any other records of him. The clincher is, he was twenty-five when Lizzie disappeared. He killed her, and now she's killing men his age the same way he killed her.”

Dean's voice came over the phone. “That's perfect!” he exclaimed. “Now we even know where her body is. How do we get to Eagle Rock?”

I winced. “That's the thing, guys. Eagle Rock is a local name. The place hasn't been given an official one. Moreover, you don't need to go to Eagle Rock – you need to go under it, to the bottom of the gorge. The only way to get there is to...” I sighed. “Hike. Look, come back and get me, and I'll show you where it is.”

“All right,” Sam said. “We'll be there in twenty.”

I hung up the phone and went to find my gym shoes. This was gonna suck so bad.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sure enough, as we picked our way down a poorly marked trail in the late afternoon light, I regretted offering to show Sam and Dean where Eagle Rock was located. Why couldn't I have just given them directions? A crude map? Then I sighed. Because they would have gotten horribly lost and probably ended up being eaten by a bear, that's why. I knew the area from my studies as well as childhood visits, and I was reasonably well qualified as a guide. 

I looked over at Sam and Dean. Sam was carrying a can of gasoline and a bag of salt, while Dean carried a shovel and crowbar. A crowbar? It wasn't like she was going to be in a coffin.

“Hey Dean,” I said. “Why do you have a crowbar? I doubt she's in a coffin.”

“Rocks,” he replied succinctly.

Well, that made sense. I turned my attention back to trying not to sprain an ankle. We weren't far from our destination, and I really wanted to get everything done and be back up the trail before sundown. I was looking at my feet, paying attention to the rocks and tree roots that were trying to kill me, when I heard the rush of the river suddenly get louder and the ground in front of me flattened out. “Okay guys, we're about there,” I said. 

Another few yards and we were out of the woods, standing under an outcrop that, if you squinted and looked at it from just the right angle, might vaguely resemble and eagle.

I sat down hard on a rock and gestured to the ground in front of me. “Have at it, boys,” I panted.

It took them about an hour to find the remains, and would have taken longer if Sam hadn't done some approximate calculations on trajectory and height. When Dean's shovel finally struck something that wasn't dirt or rock, I exhaled in relief. The guys quickly finished uncovering the bones, then uncapped the gasoline and poured it into the hole.

Suddenly, the trees near us began to whip violently in a wind that howled through the gorge, sounding uncannily like a woman's angry scream. Branches cracked, and an enormous limb hit the ground about two inches from me. “Hurry up, Dean!” Sam yelled as he finished spreading the salt over the remains. 

“I'm trying!” Dean snapped in response, but every time he managed to get a match lit, the wind blew it out before he could drop it in the grave. Finally, he managed to light the whole matchbook and set fire to the remains. As the flames burned out, the wind died down and the trees grew still.

“You think that's it?” Sam asked Dean, looking around.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we're done,” Dean said.

“Okay, great,” I said, standing up and dusting myself off. I was shaking violently in the aftermath of the terrifying experience I had just had, but the guys were taking it in stride, and I didn't want to look fainthearted. “Let's get back up to the car.”

As expected, the hike back up was worse than the hike down, and when we reached the car I fell into the back seat. “Take me someplace I can eat something and then collapse,” I moaned.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “You want to just stay at the campground one more night?” Sam asked.

“Sure, whatever,” I yawned.

By the time Dean pulled into the parking spot by our campsite, my eyes were fluttering closed no matter how hard I tried to keep them open. Sam opened the back door and shook my shoulder. “Hey, Kat,” he said. “You have to eat something before you go to sleep.”

“Go 'way,” I mumbled, and tried to push his hand away. It didn't move. God, were these boys made of steel?

“Here,” he persisted, handing me a granola bar. “Eat this, and while you're eating, I'll pull out the seat and grab the blankets, okay?”

“'Kay,” I said, yawning so hard my jaw cracked. I stumbled out of the car and leaned against the trunk, eating my granola bar and watching Sam make up a bed. Once I'd finished the food, I handed him the wrapper and crawled under the blankets. My head hadn't even hit the pillow before I was asleep.


	4. Exposition, Baking, and Adorably Protective Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting kind of angsty here, y'all. Trigger warning for suicide and self-harm references.

A soft click jerked me awake. I sat straight up and saw the back door of the Impala open and a shadowy figure crawl in the car. I took a deep breath to scream for Sam and Dean, but apparently the shadow knew what I was going to do and clamped a hand over my mouth. It pulled me back against its chest, trying to control my struggling, and – wait. This felt familiar. I stopped fighting and said, muffled by the hand, “Dean?”

Dean let me go and I turned to face him. “What are you doing?” I hissed. “The deal was that you and Sam sleep in the tent and I get the car – wait, why are you wet?”

Dean looked mildly amused as he responded, “You were right. It's raining. Sam, because he's a gentleman, decided to stay in the leaky tent and get wet. Me, on the other hand, I'd rather be dry than a gentleman. So move over, sweetheart.”

I thought about arguing with him, but it had to be three in the morning and I really just wanted to go back to sleep. “Fine,” I said shortly. “Keep your hands to yourself and stay on your half of the...seat.”

He smirked. “Don't worry. Your virtue is safe with me.”

I sighed and curled back up under the blankets. “I doubt any woman's virtue is safe with you,” I muttered.

I heard him chuckle, then his breathing deepened and became more regular. I fell asleep quickly, feeling weirdly safe with Dean at my back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I woke up again to the pale early morning sunlight shining through the windshield, I sleepily thought for a second the blankets had gotten heavier. Then I realized that the weight was, in fact, Dean's arm and leg draped over me, pinning me to the seat. I started to squirm to get out from under him, but he only shifted, holding me even more firmly to the seat. I wriggled again, then froze as I felt something hard poking into my back. Oh dear. Awkward.

I felt him stir again and quickly closed my eyes and breathed slowly, pretending I was asleep. He yawned against my ear, then stiffened quickly and muttered “Shit.” He slowly edged away, gently removing his arm and leg from their positions on top of me. He moved quietly to the far side of the seat, then yawned much more loudly and stretched, hitting the top of the car.

I pretended he had just woken me up and pulled my head out from under the covers, giving him my best glare, the one I usually used on people who dog-eared my books. I shoved my face back into the pillow and gave him a muffled “go to hell,” to which he responded, “Been there, done that, got the freaky memories and the invisible scars.” 

Then he slapped my ass.

I was sure as hell awake now.

When we got out of the car, Dean was sporting a black eye and a bleeding mouth; I had escaped unscathed but for a couple of bruises on my knuckles and a glancing hit to the bicep where he'd tried to capture my arm. I danced away from him, smirking as he made a half-hearted attempt to grab me while swearing and nursing his lip.

Sam had rebuilt and lit another fire, and was cooking what looked like more oatmeal over it. When he heard the racket Dean was making, he looked over at us, took in the situation, and started to smile. Then grin. Then chuckle. Within a few minutes, he was convulsing in laughter. Every time the howls started to trail off, he would look up and catch either the smug look on my face or the infuriated one on Dean's and start guffawing again.

Finally, after Dean's expression became more and more thunderous and my smug grin grew to epic proportions, Sam calmed down and wiped the tears out of his eyes.

Dean crossed his arms. “What exactly, Sammy, do you think is so funny?”

That set Sam off again, and between chortles, he said “Did SHE do that to you?”

“No,” Dean said sarcastically, “I thought it would be an awesome idea to punch myself in the face!”

Sam turned his attention to me. “What did he do, besides climb into the car with you? I figure if that was the problem, I'd have heard a lot more cursing in the middle of the night. I assume you didn't just randomly attack him?”

I glared at Dean as I said “First, he woke me up obscenely early. Again. We don't even have anywhere to be today. Second, in order to make sure I stayed awake, he decided to slap my ass. So yeah, I clocked him. Twice.”

Sam turned back to Dean. “Dude, you let a five-foot-four girl punch you?”

“I didn't LET her punch me,” Dean protested angrily, “I couldn't get hold of her! Every time I grabbed her arm, it wasn't there anymore!”

Sam started laughing again, burying his face in his hands and letting out the occasional muffled snort.

I finally decided to take pity on Dean. “Sam, don't make too much fun of him. I went to an all-girls school, and one of the required freshman courses was self-defense. It was a pretty simple class, but it drilled into our heads how to punch, how to dodge, and how to get away. The muscle memory is still pretty much intact.”

Despite my explanation, Dean continued staring daggers at me, and I raised my hands in surrender. “Look, if you had been expecting me to come after you, there would have been no contest. I'm smaller than you and lighter than you, and you've proven already you can hold me still. But since you weren't expecting it – and you had just assaulted me – you got that pretty bruise.”

His face started to soften. “Fine. Fair enough. Point taken.”

I grabbed a bowl of the oatmeal Sam had made and dug in. Sam had apparently already eaten, and he wandered off to break down the tent. As I ate, it became harder and harder to swallow as I kept reliving the events of yesterday evening. Finally, I choked down the last bite and headed over to the car. I slid into the backseat and rested my head against the window. I just needed a minute. I'd be fine.

I jerked back to the present when Sam opened the door.“What's wrong?” he asked softly. 

“I'm fi -” I started, but he stopped me with an impatient movement of his hand. 

“Don't bother saying you're fine, Kat. Your face is saying pretty much the exact opposite.”

I bit my lip hard, but it was a lost cause. I felt the tears start to fall and buried my face in his shirt, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe and seeking comfort from the nearest possible source. He jerked in surprise, then tentatively wrapped an arm around me, whispering, “It's all right, it's all right. Let it out. It's okay. Breathe. It's okay.” I cried until my eyes were swollen and his shirt was soaked, mourning the loss of my beloved job, my home, my identity, my belief in a normal world; hell, even mourning the cat-that-wasn't-a-cat.

When the sobs had turned into hiccups, I sat back up and wiped my eyes with a shaky hand. “I'm sorry,” I said thickly, giving him a tremulous smile. “Y'all must really think I've gone off the deep end. Yellin' all the time, poutin' when I'm not yellin', cryin' when I'm not poutin'...Lord, I'm a wreck.”

Sam pushed my chin up until I met his eyes. “Hey, it's okay,” he said. “It's bad enough find out monsters are real. Then to add on top of it all the pressure Dean and I are putting on you – anyone would snap. Does your accent usually get thicker when you're upset?”

I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. Now that I had calmed down a little, my brain started to work and I remembered Dean's earlier odd remark about hell.

“Yeah, but only if I'm crying,” I muttered vaguely. “Sam,” I said, looking up at him again, “has Dean actually been to hell?”

Sam jumped and looked down at me, clearly startled. “Uh, what gave you that idea?”

“A couple of weird comments combined with the world you live in, and it's not too hard to jump to that conclusion.”

He tensed up and said, “Look, the whole thing about Hell -” I could hear him capitalize it - “that's Dean's thing. You can ask him about it, if you want. I've been. It wasn't pleasant. I don't talk about it. I don't really know if Dean does or not. What I can tell you is that demons and angels are real. I've met the Voice of God and I've met the king of Hell. I've been to heaven and one of my best friends is an angel. Well, mostly. Well, right now, mostly. It's complicated.”

I was beginning to get the feeling that everything in these boys' lives was complicated. Then something hit me.

“Sam, I don't know your last names.”

He looked relieved when I abandoned the Hell line of questioning. “Uh, it's Winchester. Both of us.”

I giggled. “Winchester? Like the gun? Do you actually carry Winchesters?”

He smiled down at me. “Sometimes. Mostly we use whatever we have. Can't afford to be picky when you don't actually make any money.”

I stretched, making sure not to hit Sam. “Okay. I'm not going to ask where the credit card came from that Dean keeps paying for food with.”

He grinned. “Good idea.”

I was suddenly aware that I had slept in my sweaty clothes. “Sam,” I said, “I need a shower. Desperately. I will be right back.”

I pulled clothes out of my bag in the car, this time choosing things I preferred to wear, rather than the ones I had worn to fit in with the locals. I headed for the showers, looking behind me for just long enough to see Sam sit down next to Dean and begin talking to him in a low voice.

When I came back to the campsite, wet hair pulled up into a bun and dirty clothes slung over my shoulder, Sam and Dean had finished packing the tent up and were in the process of extinguishing the fire. I was determined to pretend everything was fine, so I tossed my gross clothes into a bag full of similarly dirty apparel and sat down on the Impala's trunk.

The guys turned around and headed towards the car, only to stop short when they saw me. Dean's forehead wrinkled, but Sam was the one who spoke. “Ah, you look...different,” he said hesitantly.

I looked down at myself. Black flats, black A-line skirt, cream top, black cardigan. I'd put my hair up into its usual bun and worn my glasses, no longer bothering with contacts. “What?” I said.

This time it was Dean. “You look like a librarian,” he said bluntly.

I rolled my eyes. “Dean, I am a librarian.”

“Yeah, but...come on. You're a walking stereotype.”

I laughed, not offended. “If you don't own at least three cardigans and a cat, the librarian association rescinds your membership. Besides, this is actually how I like to dress. I know I look young, and it's hard to be taken seriously as a young woman in a field dominated by older people. So I started dressing to make myself look older, then realized these outfits are actually incredibly comfortable.”

Dean still looked dubious, but seemed to decide that it wasn't worth arguing about. “Okay, whatever. Sammy, are we taking her to the Batcave, or do we want to set her up somewhere else?”

“Let's go ahead and take her to the bunker,” Sam replied. “We should be able to get there in about sixteen hours, if we switch off driving.”

“The bunker?” I asked.

Sam smiled mysteriously. “I promise you'll love it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thirteen hours and countless traffic violations later, Dean pulled the Impala up to a door half hidden in a hillside. We had been in the car all day, from 8 am to 9 pm, and I really just wanted to get out and stretch my legs. Sam got out of the car and rolled the door up, and Dean carefully pulled the car into what seemed to be an underground garage.

I opened the car door and stood up, grabbing the roof when my knees threatened to buckle. “Are you okay?” Sam called from where he was shutting the garage door.

“Yeah, I'm good,” I yelled back. “Just stiff.”

Dean hopped out of the car and grabbed some of my bags. “Follow me,” he said. “Let me give you a tour.” Sam came over to the car and picked up the rest of my clothes, then followed Dean and me down a set of stairs. When we reached the bottom, I stopped dead and stared.

We had just stepped into an enormous room, with vaulted ceilings and walkways running around the walls. Doors opened off those walkways, leading me to believe that this complex was much larger than it appeared. I took a few more steps forward, moving towards the large table in the center of the room. As I approached the table, I spotted an darkened archway off the main room and took a detour towards it. Just as I reached the arch, the lights in the dark room turned on, and I was standing at the entrance to one of the most beautiful libraries I had ever seen.

Speechless, I walked softly into the room, running my eyes and then my fingers over the incredible collection of rare books. I made a full circle of the library, marveling at the diversity and extensiveness of the archive, and imagining what I could learn. When I finally made it back around to the archway, I realized Dean was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a self-satisfied look on his face. “See something you like?” he asked.

“I – this – I can't even -” I stuttered, then flew over to him and wrapped my arms around him tightly. He started, then returned the embrace. “This might actually be worth losing my identity over,” I said, my voice muffled in his chest.

When he laughed, I felt the rumble against my cheek. “I'm glad you approve,” he said, looking down at me with – was that affection? 

I pulled away from him, ignoring the little voice in the back of my head that shrieked at the loss of contact. He let me go, although he seemed a little reluctant to do so, and asked, “So, do you want to pick out a bedroom?”

Sam was waiting patiently with my bags at another archway, and Dean and I followed him into a hallway lined with identical doors. “So each bedroom has a private bathroom,” Sam said, “and they're all furnished. That said, the mattresses are ancient. Like, 1950s ancient. Once you've made yourself comfortable, you may want to invest in another mattress.”

Dean leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I got memory foam. It REMEMBERS me.”

Sam continued, “This room is mine, and this is Dean's. The rooms are really pretty much identical, but you can pick whichever one you want.”

I wandered down the hallway, pushing open doors. Sam was right; the rooms really were identical, and the only factor I really had to consider was location. “This one,” I said, pointing at a door that was exactly halfway between Sam and Dean's rooms.

The boys hauled my bags into the room and dropped them on the bed. “We'll get your books out of the car tomorrow,” Sam said, “and you can add them to the library.”

Suddenly a wave of fatigue hit me, and I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. “Sounds good,” I said, starting to sway. Dean grabbed my arm and steadied me.

“You're exhausted, aren't you?” he said, looking at me closely. 

“Yeah,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn and failing miserably. “I think I'm going to take a shower and go to bed.”

I almost fell asleep twice in the shower. When I got out, I fished my pajama t-shirt out of my bag, but couldn't find the pants. I was too tired to bother with it, so I shoved all my bags onto the floor and crawled under the blankets wearing nothing but my t-shirt and underwear. Once again, I passed out before my head hit the pillow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was having a strange dream about a squirrel that lived in a goldfish bowl and spoke in the voice of Patrick Stewart when I heard voices. I woke up a little, but I couldn't manage to drag myself all the way into awareness. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard snatches of Sam and Dean talking in low voices.

“- been asleep for almost 24 hours -”

“- heard pills rattling in her bags -”

“- something she's not telling us -”

“- wake her up?”

“I'll do it.”

The next thing I knew, someone had jerked the covers off of me and cold air was rushing over my bare legs. I shrieked and grabbed behind me for the blankets, only to hear Dean chuckle. “You don't wear pants at night, huh?” he said with amusement.

“Fuck off,” I growled, turning over and sitting up to reach for the blankets. At least I wasn't wearing granny panties. Before I could reach the covers, Dean's eyes narrowed and he pushed me back down, then pulled my t-shirt up to my hips. I struggled against him. “What the hell do you think -”

“What are these?” he asked, pointing at the many thin silver scars on my thighs.

“Um, my cat scratched me? A lot?” I said hopefully.

“Try again,” Dean said. “Between those scars, the pills in your bag, and the ridiculous amount of sleep you seem to need, I think you have some explaining to do.”

Shit. I quit fighting him and let my head thunk back into the pillow. Apparently we were having this conversation right now.

I heard Sam walk into the room. “Dean, you were just supposed to wake her up, not – oh, Kat. What are those?”

Apparently we were ALL having this conversation right now. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, Dean moving his hand and letting me tug my shirt down over my legs. I wrapped my arms around my calves and looked down, not making eye contact.

“I'm going to say all this at once, okay? If you interrupt me, I'll have a meltdown and have to drug myself to sleep, and then I'll be useless for two days. Understand?”

Both men nodded silently. I steadied myself, then began.

“I don't know exactly when it started. I was about sixteen when I realized I cried much more easily than most people, and seventeen when I realized I hadn't laughed in months. I managed to get accepted to one of the best universities in the country, but by the time I turned nineteen, I was failing classes and crying myself to sleep every night for no reason. My doctor put me on antidepressants, and they worked pretty well. My grades started to go up, I started to socialize, and I even met this guy – not the skinwalker. He came later.” I paused and took a deep breath. “This guy, Jonathan, was amazing. Like I've mentioned, I went to an all-girls school for high school. This guy was my first relationship and my first love...he was my first in a lot of things, and I was deliriously happy. After about a year, he proposed, and I accepted. I was planning a wedding for as soon as we graduated. Then one day he called me, crying. Turned out he'd gotten drunk and cheated on me. He swore up and down it would never happen again, and I believed him and took him back. We were going to work it out. We loved each other, right? No. About six months later, at the beginning of my senior year of undergrad, I got a text from him that said 'I don't think we're working out.' That was it. I had already bought my wedding dress, and I was furious. I made him pay me back for it and then threw his damn diamond ring in the river.”

“Well, I'd made him the center of my world, and when he left, I spun out of control. I was drunk more than I was sober, I made some questionable decisions regarding other men and a few women, and I gained thirty pounds. It got worse when I found out that he had cheated on me again, but this time had decided to leave me for her. That's when I popped the blades out of my safety razor and gave myself these scars. He had successfully reduced me to a worthless, fat, weeping, useless failure. When I found out he'd proposed to her, I tried to commit suicide for the first time.” I saw Dean open his mouth, but Sam elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. I continued.

“At the time, I lived with my best friends, and one of them found me and got me to the hospital. Well, turns out that if you end up in the hospital after taking fifty Ativan, they keep you there until they're satisfied you aren't a threat to yourself or others. I spent two weeks in the psych ward, where psychiatrists poked and prodded and experimented with medications. I was finally told that while a lot of the depression was situational, some of it was chemical. My brain simply doesn't process serotonin and dopamine the way it should. In short, I lost the genetic lottery and was predestined to be clinically depressed. Once they released me, I finished out my degree and graduated, barely. I got a low-paying job working at a desk, and it was going reasonably well. I was working on my master's degree in the evenings, I was taking my meds, everything was going smoothly. Then one of my coworkers quit, and the manager hired this awful, bullying woman to take his place. Within three months, I had tried to commit suicide again.”

I exhaled, then inhaled, keeping myself together. “I ended up quitting my job and going to school full-time, living off a fellowship and student loans. I started to piece my life back together, and once I finished my master's degree in library science, I got a job at a local library. That's where I met the skinwalker – he was actually a rebound that turned into a nightmare, but he made me feel attractive when I know I'm not. I didn't even really like him – but that's another story. I defended my first doctoral thesis three years later, and got the job at Overton. I was working on a second doctorate – which I guess I'll never finish now – when you two showed up.” I stopped for a moment. “So that's my story. That's how I got those scars; if you look a little closer, you can see where I cut my femoral artery the second time I tried to kill myself. Don't you dare pity me, either. The depression is reasonably under control now. It only flares up when I'm under stress, which is why y'all have gotten to see the panic attacks, the crying fits, and the hypersomnia. I'm sorry I'm so high-maintenance and basically batshit insane. I know I'm not worth it.” I fell silent and stared at my feet, tears welling up in my eyes. I was waiting for them to tell me they'd made a mistake, they would have to send me away, that this wasn't going to work out.

I heard someone shift, then felt the bed move as someone sat down. Suddenly, two pairs of warm arms were wrapped around me, and Sam was whispering “it's okay, it's okay” in my ear while Dean rubbed my back soothingly. I gave up the fight against my tears and sobbed, burying my face in my arms and feeling the wrenching feeling in my chest I had thought I was done with. I had thought I didn't really care about these men, and I wouldn't mind if they decided they didn't need me. I had been wrong, I had been so wrong, and now I cried in fear and sadness at the thought of having to start my life over. I didn't realize I was whispering “please don't send me away, please don't send me away” until Dean pulled back and looked at me.

“Kat, we aren't going to send you away. This doesn't change anything. We still need your incredible skills as a researcher, not to mention -” he shared a look with Sam over my head - “I'm pretty sure we're kind of attached to you now.”

Sam nodded. “You're staying,” he said firmly.

I looked up at them in astonishment. “Really?” I said faintly. “You still want me? But I'm not – I mean – I'm crazy, I'm not going to be able to -”

Sam and Dean looked at each other again, and this time Sam spoke. “Kat, if I ever get my hands on the man that made you think you're worthless, I will personally rip off his balls and feed them to him,” he said solemnly.

“I'll help,” Dean added.

I smiled tremulously and wiped the tears off my face. I was abruptly aware of what I must look like, my hair a mess from sleeping on it wet and my face blotched with tears. “Okay, guys,” I said. “I need to wash my face and tame my hair. I promise I'll either come find you or go play in the library once I'm done.”

Sam nodded, and headed for the door, but Dean stayed on the bed. "You aren't crazy," he said firmly. "Depressed and crazy are two completely different things. Regardless of some earlier things said by idiots."

I smiled at him through the tears. I thought, this time, he might actually be sincere.

He stood up and went to leave, then stopped. “Kat, do you really think you aren't attractive?” he asked.

I laughed shakily. “Dean, look at me. I'm fat, I'm short, and I dress like I'm fifty. I know I'm not attractive.” 

He hesitated, then swiftly walked over to me and kissed me softly on the lips. He whispered, “You're beautiful, Kat,” and just as swiftly, he backed away and practically ran out the door. I raised my fingers to my tingling lips, and stared after him in shock.

What the hell was that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After I subdued my hair and washed the tear stains off my face, I had made up my mind about Dean's little display. I'd watched him flirt with women; he wasn't shy and he didn't hesitate. He must have just been trying to make me feel better. Yes, I decided, that had to be it.

I wandered into the library to find Sam sitting at a table with a box of my books in front of him. He was absorbed in one of my more valuable pieces, a handwritten collection of Navajo legends. I smiled and sat down quietly in the chair next to him. “Did you decide to go through my things, Sam?” I teased gently.

He looked up guiltily and closed the book. “I was bringing them up here for you, and I was going to unpack them and start making cards for the card catalog, but when I saw this I just couldn't resist taking a look, and I guess -” 

I laughed and cut him off. “It's okay, Sam. I was teasing.” Then I frowned. “Did you say cards for the card catalog? As in, an actual, physical, card catalog?”

Sam looked puzzled. “Well, yeah.”

“Oh, Sam. I see I have work to do.” I hopped off the table and grabbed my laptop out of the box it had landed in. I had a copy of Overton's cataloging program on a portable hard drive, just in case the head librarian managed to erase the entire server. It would be a fairly simple matter for me to erase the Overton data and create a digital catalog for this library, especially considering how small it was compared to Overton's. Probably about a week's worth of work.

Sam looked at me curiously. “What do you mean?” 

I plugged in the hard drive, pulled up the program, and started erasing files. “Y'all need a digital catalog, desperately. While I'm sure that these books don't have assigned Library of Congress call numbers, I'm pretty sure I can approximate well enough to make it much easier to find a book.” I looked around. “I guess I won't be able to put stickers on the books themselves...that's okay. I'll label the shelves and put a bookmark with the call number on it inside the book. If y'all can get me another laptop, I'll make it into a cataloging station and it can live in here. I'll have to do some rearranging, of course...see if you boys can manage to stay out of trouble for a week, okay? It'll be very difficult to find a specific book during the reshelving.”

I glanced up from the laptop to find Sam looking at me with respect and a little awe. “What?” I asked. “You kidnapped a librarian to do research for you. Did you expect her to leave your disorganized, outdated library the way she found it? Pfft.”

Sam laughed and admitted, “Fair point. I think Dean and I will probably stay here for a week or two to make sure you're settled in and know where everything is, so you can start your project whenever you want to.”

All of a sudden, I became aware that my stomach was reminding me that it hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. “Okay,” I said, looking at Sam. “Let's start with the kitchen.”

After he guided me through the maze of hallways to the kitchen - “Next time I'm bringing a ball of string, Sam” - I ate a quick sandwich and returned to my cataloging. Once I had reached the point where I would have to start spreading books out on the floor, I decided it was probably time to stop for the day and pick up the project tomorrow. The time on my laptop was 5 pm. What should I do with the rest of my evening?

I wandered the bunker until I found myself back in the kitchen, where I started absently opening cabinets and checking out the cooking supplies. I opened the fridge and there, staring at me, was a bag of fresh cherries. I grinned. I knew what I was doing next.

About an hour later, I heard footsteps in the hallway and then Dean wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the air. He saw me and froze, obviously trying to decide between fleeing and working up the nerve to ask me what smelled so good. I took pity on him and said, “Is there something I can do for you, Dean?”

Seemingly relieved that we were going to pretend the kiss had never happened, he said, “Well, I followed this amazing smell in here, and -” Then Sam's head popped around the door.

“Oh my God, Kat, what smells so good?” he asked longingly. I opened my mouth to answer, but the oven buzzed and I decided to show them instead. I grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven, pulling out a steaming, made-from-scratch cherry pie.

Dean's mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. God. We are so keeping you,” he said with feeling.

Sam laughed. “If there was any doubt, any at all, about you staying, I think you just killed it,” he said.

I grinned at them. “Fair warning, guys. I bake when I'm stressed or upset.”

Dean had already cut himself a huge slice of pie, sat down at the table, and was shoveling it into his mouth, regardless of the fact that it had to still be scalding hot. He closed his eyes in bliss, then looked up at me reverently. Through a mouthful of cherry filling, he said, “Will 'ou mawwy me?”

The look on his face was so funny that I couldn't help laughing, letting out what was left of the stress of my confession and fear into hysterical giggles. Dean just looked at me and shrugged, then devoted his attention to his piece of pie.

When I calmed down, Dean had cleaned his plate and was looking longingly at the remainder of the pie. When I saw his hand snake towards the knife, I slapped him on the wrist. “Stop it,” I said. “Leave some for Sam and me.”

He gave me the saddest eyes I had ever seen. “But, Kat -” 

“No buts,” I said firmly.

Sam said, “So, you bake and research. Do you cook too?”

I shrugged. “Reasonably well. If you give me a recipe, I can use that as a baseline and work from there. I'm not, like, a Food Network chef or anything, but my cooking is definitely edible. Although...” I looked around the kitchen pointedly, “you were lucky there were enough supplies to make that pie.” I absently smacked Dean's hand again just as it reached the pie pan, and he jerked it back with a scowl. “I don't know how y'all get groceries, but if you're willing, I can give you a list of some basic supplies and work out some simple meals.” 

“That would be amazing,” Sam said feelingly. “We can both cook, but hardly ever feel like it. We've been eating takeout and canned crap for ages.”

I spotted Dean's hand as it sneaked towards the pie pan again, and this time I grabbed his wrist. “Dean, seriously. One of the reasons that pie is so good is because it's incredibly rich. Because of the lack of supplies, I had to make some substitutions, and that pie is probably 1200 calories a slice. If you eat much more, you WILL be sick.” Dean pouted at me, but withdrew his hand and slumped in his chair, obviously sulking. I rolled my eyes. It was clear that all the babysitting I had done as a teenager would be coming in handy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week went by, and true to my prediction, I finished recataloging the library. Also true to my prediction, Dean gorged himself on the cherry pie and was horribly sick. I nobly refrained from saying “I told you so.”

Another week passed. I gave Sam a list of basic groceries to get, and when he returned, I made chicken parmesan. This time, it was Sam that proposed. Dean was too busy stuffing his face to say anything.

The third week after I arrived at the bunker, Sam and Dean went on a case, and I sent them off with a meticulously researched packet of notes. I spent the four days they were gone eating Ben & Jerry's, watching Game of Thrones, and trying not to think of worst case scenarios. When they came back, covered in blood and dirt and clearly exhausted, I had two apple pies and a blackberry cobbler waiting for them. Sam took one look at them and hugged me, saying “You don't need to stress when we're gone. We'll come back.” Once again, Dean was too busy stuffing his face to say anything. 

Two weeks later, I had my first real depressive episode since moving into the bunker. I ate a quart of chocolate ice cream, drank almost half a fifth of vodka, got sick, cried for two hours, and then slept for twenty. The only reason I got out of bed at all was that Sam picked me up out of the bed and carried me, fighting and cursing, over to the bathtub. He set me in it and turned on the cold water. Stunned into silence, I gaped at him. He informed me that from now on, he and Dean would not be allowing me to fall into destructive patterns. No more than one pint of ice cream would be be bought at a time, the liquor would be locked up, and I wasn't to be allowed to sleep for more than twelve hours straight. Despite the insults I threw at him, he stayed firm, and no following episode was ever as bad.

A week after that, I introduced the guys to Doctor Who. Dean referred to it as “a total nerdgasm,” but Sam was hooked. We blew through the entire new series in thirteen days.

The weeks began to blur into months, until it felt like I had always been living at the bunker, cooking and researching for the boys (I did make them do all the dishes and cleaning, though. I was not a maid). I had my intermittent depressive episodes, but the brothers got better and better at helping me through them. The bunker got attacked occasionally, and I got better and better at defending myself and staying out of the brothers' way while they killed things. I hardly ever left the bunker unless one of the boys made me; it was much easier to hide in the library and pretend the outside world didn't exist. Dean and I continued denying the chemistry we had, shoving it down until I nearly believed he really was my brother. My old life was a distant memory, and although sometimes I missed it, the one I had now was just as good.

Neither Dean nor I ever mentioned that kiss.


	5. Angels, Pranks, and Men Who've Really Messed Up This Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas is here! Also: non-con spanking at the end of the chapter.

One spring day, about six months after I had first met the boys, I was in the kitchen throwing a casserole together and dancing to the music on my phone. Sam and Dean were fast asleep, recovering from a case they had worked in California. When I turned around to put the casserole in the oven, there was a man in a tan trenchcoat standing in the kitchen, looking at me. 

“Where are Sam and Dean Winchester?” he said.

The boys had installed a panic button under the kitchen counter after an unfortunate incident with a few of Crowley's minions. It was hooked up to a wire that rang alarms in their rooms. I stepped slowly backwards until I hit the counter, then ran my fingers under it until I found and pressed the button. “I'm not sure who you mean,” I said, trying to stall him until the guys made it to the kitchen.

“Where are Sam and Dean Winchester?” he repeated, taking a step closer to me. Just as I was getting ready to swing a pan at his head and make a run for it, Sam and Dean burst into the kitchen.

Then they stopped dead and stared.

The man in the coat turned around and looked at them, and abruptly Dean burst forward and hugged the man so tightly I was surprised he could breathe. When Dean stepped back, Sam did the same. I stood against the counter, watching the scene in silence and trying to make sense of it.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. “How did you get rid of the curse Rowena put on you?”

“Another angel noticed my plight, and gathered a band of seraphim together to remove the spell,” the man in the coat replied. “I am no danger to you now.”

Angels? Seraphim? This must be...

I unglued myself from the counter and asked timidly, “Excuse me, are you Castiel?”

The man turned around and looked at me quizzically, as though he had forgotten I was there. “Yes, I am. Sam, Dean, what is this woman doing in your kitchen?”

Dean looked around Castiel's shoulder and said, “Well, it looks like she's making a chicken casserole. It's surprisingly good, actually, you should -”

Castiel interrupted. “Why is she in the bunker, Dean. Don't be obtuse.”

Dean answered, “We needed some help on a case in North Carolina. Found her name in one of Bobby's little black books as an expert, she helped us out, then agreed to come back and research for us full-time.”

I laughed internally. _Yes, Dean, let's leave out the kidnapping and skinwalker and complete destruction of my identity, shall we?_

Castiel still looked dubious, but when Sam took his arm and started to pull him towards the library, talking excitedly about the new digital catalog, he went willingly.

I exhaled and slumped against the counter. “So that's the famous Castiel, huh?” I said, looking up at Dean.

“Yep,” he replied. “Don't worry, he'll warm up to you.”

Now I was the dubious one, but I nodded and went back to my casserole. After a moment, Dean left the kitchen and headed towards the library.

After dinner, which had included brownies because random angels showing up in my kitchen was upsetting, the boys and Castiel disappeared into the library again. I headed to my room and picked up my copy of the newest Alison Weir book to see if I could distract myself with it. While I had a degree in Native American history, Tudor history was a hobby of mine. I was lost in Weir's description of Edward VI's tragic reign, and starting to doze, when I heard a knock at my door.

After making sure I was wearing enough for modesty, I opened the door to find Dean and Castiel. “Ah, can I help you?” I said.

Dean looked at me soberly. “Cas wants to try something, if you don't mind.”

Before I could say anything, the angel had pressed two fingers to my forehead. The room spun and then went black, and I heard Dean say “Shit!” as I collapsed.

When I woke up, I was lying on my bed with Dean sitting next to me, looking at me concernedly. Castiel was standing by the bed, looking down with no emotion on his face. “How do you feel?” Dean asked softly.

“I'm fine,” I spat, then sat up and turned my attention to Castiel. “What the hell was that, you -”

Dean interrupted me. “No, Kat. How do you FEEL?”

I stopped. That sentence was kind of a code between me and the boys, them letting me know that I was starting to display signs of depression. It alerted me to patterns I was falling into, allowing me to consciously break them before they became problematic. Or that was what it was supposed to do, anyway. The last time one of them had used the phrase was right before I had eaten a pint of Chocolate Therapy, drunk a bottle of wine, burst into tears, and then slept for eighteen hours, only waking up when Dean had physically dragged me out of bed. That had been the worst episode in a while.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, separating my feelings into categories like I had been taught over the course of many years of therapy. Here is anger, mostly at Castiel, some at Dean. Here is fear, less than usual, for Sam and Dean. Here is grief, largely muted, for my old life and job. Here is affection, for Sam and Dean, one of my favorite emotions. Here is depression, always present – hang on. 

“Oh my God,” I gasped. The depression was still there, but it was different. It was no longer this inescapable pressure on me; rather, I could tell that the deepest, most entrenched darkness had been removed. I felt – lighter. I could see a brighter future now, rather than a repetitive slog. The thoughts of suicide that always floated at the back of my mind were gone, as was the urge to add to the scars on my thighs. I still felt a dimming of my thoughts and emotions, a certain numbness that I had always associated with the depression, but the worst of it was just – gone.

I looked up at Castiel with wonder in my eyes. “What did you do?”

Was it my imagination, or did he look a little bit proud of himself? “Dean informed me that you had a chemical imbalance in your brain that was causing problems. I fixed it. Your brain now processes dopamine and serotonin normally; you should begin tapering off your antidepressants immediately in order to preserve the effect. I recommend keeping anti-anxiety medications on hand, though, as they will likely be necessary to get you through the milder attacks that will still occur.”

Dean looked up at him. “What do you mean, 'attacks that will still occur?'” he demanded.

“I can only fix the physical problems,” Castiel responded. Then he seemed to think again and said, “I could fix the emotional issues, I suppose, but it would likely change her personality permanently. She would no longer be the Kat Whitaker you know.”

I responded quickly. “No, nope, I'm good. Great. Better than I've been in years, actually. Better than I've been since before...him.”

Castiel looked as though he was going to ask me to explain, but Dean shook his head and he subsided.

Suddenly, a wave of vertigo hit me and I wobbled sideways on the bed. Dean caught me and laid me down, brushing my hair out of my face as he asked Castiel, “Is she okay?”

My mind was floating as I heard the angel reply, “She'll be fine. Her body is adjusting to the new chemicals. She will likely sleep for some time.”

Just like that, I fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up feeling better than I had in a decade. I bounced out of bed, showered, brushed my teeth, and pulled on a rainbow-patterned broomstick skirt and a white t-shirt – so sue me, it was comfortable, even if it wasn't the latest style.

I trotted into the main room of the bunker to find Sam, Dean, and Castiel sitting around what I mentally referred to as the “War Table.” When the brothers noticed me, they both rose to their feet, and after a moment Castiel followed suit. I walked over to Castiel and looked at him soberly just long enough for him to stop meeting my eyes, then wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him hard. I felt him freeze, then one hand came up and awkwardly patted my back.

I embraced him just long enough for him to begin shifting awkwardly, then pulled back and looked up at him and laughed, mischief in my eyes. “You, Cas, have probably created a monster,” I said; I figured he'd been in my brain, so I could shorten his name. I hopped up on the table and swung my legs, looking expectantly at the three men. They slowly sat down, all looking at me strangely – Sam and Dean in particular looked completely shocked. “What?” I said.

“We've, uh, never seen you quite so – chipper,” Sam said slowly. He looked at Cas. “Is this permanent?”

“As she tapers off of her medication, the effects will lessen slightly as the levels of chemicals decrease. However, her behavior may not change noticeably from what it is now.”

“Guys,” I said irritably, “I'm right here.”

I actually saw Dean breathe a sigh of relief at this small sign of temper. I laughed and looked at the boys. “Y'all, this is a me that people who knew me before Jon would recognize.” Huh. I could say his name with only a shadow of the usual anger and sadness. “I'm still me, just me with a longer attention span, less likely to burst into tears, and with a relatively normal need for sleep. I'm more fun now. I will, however, continue to need regular infusions of chocolate.” I thought for a moment. “I tend to play more pranks when I feel this way, though.” I thought some more. “I probably won't bake as much now, either.”

Dean immediately turned to Cas and demanded, “Change her back.”

Castiel looked confused, but obligingly reached for my forehead. I stepped quickly out of reach and said, “Whoa, big guy, he was kidding.”

The angel looked at Dean for confirmation, and Dean reluctantly nodded. “Wait,” he said. “Did you say you would play more pranks? Like the thing you did with the tent four days after we met you? Or the thing with the rubber snake in Sam's bed? Or the time when you turned off the hot water to every room but yours for a week? Or the time you reprogrammed the library catalog to only show Dr. Seuss books, no matter what we searched? Or the thing where -”

“Yes, Dean, I get your point, although I would like to point out that you and Sam give back almost as good as y'all get,” I said. “I will try very hard not to increase the frequency of my pranks, how's that?”

Dean subsided, still looking suspiciously at me. I was staring him down when two huge arms wrapped around me, swinging me off the table and into the air. Sam hugged me hard, holding me off the floor and squeezing so tightly I could barely get a breath. After a minute, I started to squirm. “Sam – can't – breathe,” I gasped out. He held on for another second before dropping me onto my feet and planting a chaste kiss on the top of my head.

“I will put up with any number of cold showers and rubber snakes if it means we get to keep this Kat,” he pronounced.

I smirked at Dean. “See, Sam's excited.” Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. Sam sat back down, and I resumed my perch on top of the table. “So how long did I sleep, y'all?”

Dean checked his watch. “About three and a half days.”

I gaped at him. “Seriously? Why didn't you wake me up?”

Sam shrugged. “Cas said not to. Something about your body adjusting to the chemicals and hormones, and that it would be better if you were unconscious.”

“Okay.” I shifted. “What'd I miss?”

“Not much,” Sam said. “We ate a lot of takeout.” He gave me sad puppy eyes.

Just then, my stomach let out an audible growl, apparently deciding to remind me that it hadn't eaten in almost four days. “So, is there anything left in the kitchen, or did y'all manage to clean it out?” I asked.

Sam and Dean looked vaguely sheepish, and Castiel answered for them. “I believe everything in the kitchen was consumed, including some sort of chocolate ice cream I'd never had before. It was delicious.”

Oh, now I was pissed. “You ate everything? Even my Ben & Jerry's?” I hissed, turning on the boys. “I thought you knew better!” The aforementioned hot water incident had occurred after I had found an empty Phish Food container in the trash and Sam and Dean with guilty looks on their faces.“Now I'm pissed AND hungry,” I snarled.

Dean jumped out of his chair, almost tripping over himself in his haste. “I'm gonna go get Chinese for lunch!” he volunteered, then took off towards the staircase to the garage. A few seconds later, I heard Baby start up. That left Sam as the only target of my (mostly feigned) rage, and he quickly stood up as well.

“Uh, Cas,” he said, grabbing the angel's arm, “let's go talk about that...thing.”

The angel looked confused. “Sam, I don't know what -”

“You know, the thing. The thing we need to talk about,” Sam insisted, towing the angel down the hallway leading to the training area. After they left, I let my suppressed smile break out. I really just wanted an excuse to mess with them; I felt so happy and energetic that I had to take it out somewhere, and since they'd given me an excuse... I looked around. Let's see. My gaze fell on Sam's laptop, where – oh dear – the silly boy had left himself logged in. I spent a few minutes with the computer and then leaned back in my chair, contemplating what I could do to Dean. After about ten minutes of meditation, I I thought I had it, but I would have to wait until he thought he was safe.

As I was thinking that, I heard footsteps on the stairs and Dean came into the main room humming Freebird, dropping three bags of Chinese food on the War Table. I cleared my throat and he jumped, then turned around quickly. “Uh, I brought you eggrolls,” he offered, reaching into a bag and handing me a cylinder of fried deliciousness. I glared at him for a moment more, then snatched it out of his hand.

“Forgiven,” I lied through a mouthful of cabbage. Dean relaxed and began to set out the food, putting a huge container of chicken lo mein in front of me.

Sam and Castiel must have heard Dean's arrival as well, since they walked into the room just as I finished my eggroll. Sam sat down at the table gingerly – I had once loosened all the legs of the chairs and he had fallen on his ass – then relaxed as the seat held his weight. We began to eat in silence, broken only Dean's request for another eggroll. Finally, I took pity on Sam and said, “So, have y'all been looking into any cases while I was out?”

Startled, Sam replied, “No, not really.”

I finished my lo mein and stood up. “Then why don't y'all find me something to research?” I called as I wandered into the library. After a second, I heard the snick of Sam's laptop opening, and fingers tapping on keys. I held my breath...

“ _I'm a slaaaave for you..._ ” blared tinnily from Sam's laptop speakers, right when he should have been hearing the Windows startup sound.

I heard cursing, then Sam cried, “She changed the background to Britney too!”

“Fix it,” Dean growled.

Some clicking, more tapping, then instead of the exclamation sound, I heard “ _Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart..._ ”

“She fucking locked me out!” Sam cursed. I snickered.

Then the speakers played, “ _Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer..._ ” 

“What was that?” asked Dean.

“An email came through,” came Sam's dejected voice. “From you, actually.”

Listening in glee, I stifled a giggle. I wondered if it would take Sam long enough to get through my controls to discover that only an email from Dean triggered Womanizer; any other sender would play Toxic.

“Well, can you just turn the volume all the way down?” Dean snapped.

I heard tapping, then again “ _Oops, I did it again..._ ”

“No,” Sam said angrily. “That...woman...locked it at max.” I could hear him trying not to call me something horribly rude.

Dean asked impatiently, “Can you hack through her controls?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “I'm better than her. It'll take a while, though.”

I called through the archway, laughing, “Aw, but you haven't even found the best one yet!” I knew for Sam to start hacking he'd probably have to pull up his web browser, and - 

“ _You better work bitch, you better work bitch..._ ” There it was! And this time it didn't cut off after the chorus. Opening the browser had triggered the song to play on repeat until Sam got through my controls. As he went off on an impressive profanity-laden tirade, insulting me, the computer, and Britney, I doubled over with laughter.

It took Sam six hours to get through my controls, and he cursed me quietly the entire time. An hour after he'd finished, he was back to joking and laughing with me like I'd never touched his precious laptop.

I waited two weeks, just long enough for Dean to think he was safe, to put my plan into action.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was in the library, working on a paper I planned to submit anonymously to an academic journal. I was thoroughly enjoying my new, lengthy attention span, and was looking forward to being able to keep up with recent developments in my field. I'd even managed to convince the boys to let me subscribe to the the American Indian Quarterly, for which purpose I had actually gone outside and rented a PO box with my brand new fake ID. I had started wearing brighter colors and more attractive clothing as well; today's outfit consisted of a purple jersey miniskirt and a loose black tank top.

Absorbed in one of my books on Cherokee creation myths, I jumped when I realized Castiel had somehow sat down silently beside me.

“Jesus, Cas! I'm going to put a bell on you!”

“Dean has threatened that many times, and yet I remain bell-less,” Castiel responded, showing the first hint of humor I had seen from him. He cocked his head. “Why did you meddle with Sam's computer? Sam and Dean did not seem to appreciate that particular style of music - if that's what it was.”

“For my entertainment,” I gasped out between giggles at his obvious dislike of Britney's music. “Also, to remind them that it's a bad idea to piss me off too much. Which reminds me...Cas, can you keep a secret?”

He looked at me with confusion. “Yes, I am capable of keeping a secret.” 

I sighed at his literalism. “Okay, will you keep a secret for me?”

He looked at me suspiciously. “It depends on what secret you want me to keep.”

“It's Dean's turn,” I whispered.

The angel looked upset. “You plan to torment Dean as well?”

“Well, duh,” I said. “Do you want to come help?”

Cas looked shocked. “Dean Winchester is my friend -” he began.

I rolled my eyes. “Cas, I'm not going to hurt him. I'm not going to touch him, or do even anything permanent.”

Castiel looked conflicted for a moment, then actually smiled. “Yes, let me help.”

I went over to the drawer of random evil-fighting crap the boys kept in the library and pulled out two window markers. They actually came in useful for drawing sigils on metallic or glass surfaces, since it washed off and didn't require a new coat of paint to remove. I grabbed Cas' hand and took off towards the garage.

I was right, and soon we were in the garage, standing by the Impala. “Okay,” I said, handing Cas one of the markers. “Start drawing hearts and flowers on the windows. It washes off. Just don't get it on the paint, or he'll kill both of us.” Castiel nodded in understanding, then began painstakingly drawing a flower on the rear windshield.

I was planning to go a little more pop culture than hearts and flowers. I scrawled “BABY NOW WE GOT BAD BLOOD” across the front windshield, leaving space for Cas to draw around it, then moved around to the front driver's window and wrote, “I <3 TAYLOR SWIFT.” On the rear driver's window, I created a reasonably recognizable drawing of a unicorn. I looked up to check on Castiel, finding him engrossed in outlining the lyrics on the windshield with swirling lines punctuated by flowers. He met my eyes and I nodded approvingly. His face broke out into a heart-breakingly sweet smile and my long-neglected maternal instincts reared their heads, despite him literally being older than eternity. I shook my head and turned to the rear windshield, where Cas had left me just enough room to scribble “I WISH THIS CAR WERE PINK.” On the rear passenger side window I wrote “METALLICA SUX” and decorated the final window with a picture of a cat wearing a bow on its head that happened to closely resemble Hello Kitty. I stood back, looking at our creation.

“One more thing,” I said, winking at Castiel. Several weeks ago, in anticipation of a prank that never came to pass, I had created a cassette mixtape that included Taylor Swift, Kelly Clarkson, Ariana Grande, and Katy Perry, along with a few songs from the lovely lady that Sam had spent six hours listening to. It had been difficult, too – it's next to impossible to find a tape recorder these days. I ejected the tape he had in the player and inserted mine, then pressed play to make sure he'd hear it as soon as he turned on the car.

Cas and I headed down the stairs back into the main room, then stopped dead when we saw Dean leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “What were you doing in the garage, Kat?” he asked curiously. “You're never in there.”

“Um, nothing,” I replied, barely keeping my laughter in check. He looked at me suspiciously, then headed up the stairs. I gestured at Cas to follow me, and we tiptoed back up the staircase and peeked over the railing.

Dean was standing in front of his beloved Impala with his mouth open in shock. He turned and saw Cas and me standing on the stairs, and gave a roar of rage and came after us. I squealed and grabbed Cas' hand, towing him behind me and laughing as I raced down the hallway towards my room and safety. We toppled into my room and I slammed and locked the door just as Dean reached it. He banged on the door, yelling disjointed obscene phrases mixed with “you touched my BABY” and “I'm going to KILL you.” Then everything went ominously silent.

Cas turned to me and said, “Do you think -” 

I put my fingers to my lips. “Shhh.” I listened carefully, and sure enough, there was a soft clicking noise coming from the door. “Shit,” I hissed, “he's picking the lock!”

Castiel actually looked vaguely alarmed. “What will he do when he gets in?”

“Well,” I said, “if he follows the usual pattern, he'll yell at me for a little bit, probably threaten to kill me, then -”

Now the angel looked truly alarmed. “I don't believe I wish to be here for this,” he interrupted, and he vanished with a whoosh just as Dean finished picking the lock.

“Seriously, Cas?” I yelled at the ceiling. “You helped!” I whirled around as Dean slammed the door behind him and stalked ominously towards me with a dark look in his eyes. I gulped. Maybe I had actually gone too far this time. I mean, he and that car had a love affair for the ages.

“I can't. Believe. You touched. BABY,” he growled, pinning me against the wall with his hands on my shoulders. I struggled against him, and he didn't budge. Well, this was new.

“Aw, c'mon, Dean, you know it washes -” I started, and he shook me. Hard.

“YOU will be quiet,” he said in the same dark voice, and I shut my mouth firmly. I had a feeling that I was seeing the hunter side of Dean, the one he showed to vampires and werewolves and other things that go bump in the night. It was – well, to be honest, it was really freaking hot. I tried to ignore the warmth pooling in my lower belly and swallowed, looking up into his eyes. “Sam thinks your little jokes are funny. Sometimes, I do too. This is not one of those times. I think you need to be reminded that, even though we care for you very much, it is possible for you to go too far.”

He stood back and looked at me, then abruptly released me and sat down on the bed. “Lay down across my lap, pull up your skirt, and put your hands behind your back.”

I gaped at him and didn't move. Seriously? He thought he was going to spank me? This was coming out of absolute nowhere. _No way in hell am I letting him treat me like a child,_ I thought, deliberately ignoring the surge of arousal his command had sent though me.

He looked at me testily and gestured towards his lap. “This is your last chance, Katherine. You can come over here and lay down, or I can come get you. If I have to come get you, you are gonna be in a lot more pain when I get done with you.”

I chewed my lip and considered. I doubted I could get to the main room before he caught me, and even if I did, what if no one was there? I made a decision and, before I could change my mind, I walked over to him and draped myself over his lap. I pulled up my skirt, took a deep breath, and crossed my wrists behind my back. 

“Here's how this works,” he whispered in my ear. “I'm gonna to spank you fifteen times. You're gonna be completely silent the entire time. If I hear a noise, a moan, a whimper, anything, I'll start over. Are we clear?” I nodded silently and braced myself for the first blow.

It landed much harder than I expected, sending the breath whooshing out of my lungs and the fight rushing out of me. I caught myself before the exhale turned into a whimper, but it was a close thing. This was going to be a lot harder than I had anticipated. I kept a mental count as strikes two, three, four, and five fell.

By the time spank number five had been delivered, I was clenching my fists hard enough to drive my nails into my palms in an effort to distract myself. I felt Dean's hand land on my ass again, but this time much more softly, and he soothingly rubbed the red areas he had just created. 

Just as I was beginning to relax, blow number six fell and I jolted. Seven, eight, nine, and ten followed quickly, with no reprieve between slaps. Then Dean repeated his earlier massage to my sore backside, and I moved slightly. When I shifted the throbbing between my legs suddenly registered, and my breath caught.

When Dean spanked me again, I stayed limp and took it. He finished his prescribed fifteen blows, then caressed my rear for a few moments as I struggled not to squirm.

When he released my wrists I slithered to the floor between his legs and fell on my knees, wincing as my sore ass connected with my thighs. He pulled my chin up until I was making eye contact with him and said, “If you ever touch the Impala again, I will double the number of times I spank you. Is that clear?” I nodded. He released my chin and stood up, forcing me into an ungainly tumble as I tried to get out of his way. When he reached the door he looked back at me, lying on the floor, and said, “Take a nap until dinner,” then walked out.

I wanted to scream after him, “I don't need any more sleep!” but I knew he didn't really care if I slept or not. He just wanted to make sure I stayed in my room and out of his way. He probably knew I'd liked the spanking and was disgusted. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, trying to deny the arousal I felt, but it wasn't working. I laid down carefully on my stomach, buried my face in my arms, and gave up fighting the tears.


	6. Hackers, Makeouts, and Men Who Finally Get the Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins the explicit section of the fic! Also contains a good bit of bisexuality.

Three days later, the bruises on my ass had healed enough that I could sit down without wincing. Dean had washed the window marker off the Impala, and I found my mixtape sitting on my night table one morning when I woke up. Castiel was still MIA, but the brothers shrugged and brushed it off as “angel crap, he'll be back if we need him.” Dean had bought me three pints of Chocolate Therapy as a silent apology, despite the brothers' policy on ice cream purchases, but I was still avoiding him. I wasn't angry, per se, but I was definitely upset. I was also having a really hard time looking at him without flashing back to being held over his knees and incredibly turned on.

Sam had to know something was wrong, since I was producing baked goods at a rate that would shame a professional pastry chef, but he didn't say anything to me about it since I still seemed to be feeling the effects of what Cas had done. I giggled, I made jokes, I researched much faster, I slept a lot less, I was more physically affectionate (something Sam was slowly adjusting to), but I would literally hide in another room when Dean passed by.

I was in the library one day about a week after the Incident, as I was calling it, when I heard Sam start yelling for Dean from the War Table. This wasn't unusual, but what caught my attention was the frantic tone. Footsteps clattered down the stairs and I heard Sam say, “Dude, look at this.”

Then Dean: “Son of a bitch. Do you think it's really her?”

Sam: “Only one way to find out.”

He rushed into the library, planted both hands on the table, and said, “I need everything you can find me on resurrection. Don't bother with angels, demons, or necromancy, we know that stuff.”

I blinked at him and said, “That's kind of broad, Sam.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, “but can you pull something together in two hours?”

My mind began to race, pulling up references and connections as I absently agreed and turned to the stacks. There were a couple of Native American myths, some Celtic legends, and a few Hindu things that I could remember immediately. If I cross-referenced those with some of the spellbooks...

Exactly two hours later, Sam set his duffel down at the door to the library and said, “Do you have anything?” I silently handed him fifteen pages of quickly scribbled notes on resurrection myths around the world, magic spells that were supposed to be able to raise the dead, and an odd reference to Dorothy of Oz I'd found in one of the Men of Letters' records. He paged through them quickly and said, “Great. Perfect. We're heading to Topeka for a few days. We'll call if anything changes.” He flew out the door and up to the garage before I could say anything.

I sat back in my chair. What had them so excited?

I got my answer two days later, when the brothers arrived back at the bunker with a vivacious redhead in tow. They were excitedly chattering and laughing, but stopped dead when I stepped shyly out of the library. The girl looked at me, then turned and punched Sam in the shoulder. “You didn't tell me your researcher was a cute girl!”

Sam rubbed his shoulder and said, “Ow! Sorry, Charlie, we were too busy trying to figure out WHY YOU WEREN'T DEAD.”

Charlie rolled her eyes and responded, “I told you! Dorothy had some kind of copy of my soul in a box in Oz, and when she found out I was dead, she sent it back here. It went to the hospital where I was born, regrew my body -” she turned to me and added “minus clothes, awkward” before continuing with “- and here I am. I was trying to figure out where I was when you two showed up. It's the same thing they did to her when she died in Oz.”

Sam started, “But Charlie -” then subsided when it became clear she was no longer at all interested in him.

“So,” she said flirtatiously, walking towards me, “who are you, gorgeous?”

“Um, hi,” I stammered, “I'm, uh, Katherine Whitaker, but all my friends call me Kat.”

“Well, I hope we can be friends, Kat,” she murmured seductively, draping her arm over my shoulders.

You know what? She was cute and I liked her. “I hope so too,” I purred, looking up at her through my eyelashes and wrapping my arm around her waist. “I'm so tired of being the only woman in this bunker.” 

She looked a bit surprised, but went with it. “Maybe you should show me your room, and we can get to know each other.”

We turned and I guided her towards my room, trailing my fingers up and down her ribs.

The undertones of our conversation were slowly becoming clear to Sam and Dean. I heard a thud and then quick footsteps behind us. When I glanced back quickly, I saw that Sam had dropped his bag on the floor and was staring after us with an open mouth, while Dean had apparently retreated into the library. I snickered under my breath, and Charlie whispered, “They're totally freaked, aren't they?”

“Yep.”

“Did they know you were gay?”

“I'm bi, actually, and I've mentioned it. Apparently they weren't listening.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Typical Winchesters.”

Once we reached my room, I released her and sat down on my couch. She sat down next to me and said, “Look, Kat, I don't know how much of that was about messing with the boys, but I am definitely attracted to you and I think you're attracted to me.” I opened my mouth to interject, but she held up a hand. “I can see that you fit in here and the boys adore you, but I don't want to just jump in bed with you. As awesome as that would be, it might make things a little complicated, since I think I'm living here now.”

“I was actually going to say the same thing,” I admitted. I really trusted this woman, the same way I'd trusted Sam and Dean when we first met. Could I confide in her? I made up my mind and said, “And I'm afraid it might be more complicated than you think.” I gave her a quick summary of the months I'd been with the boys, including the depression treatment from Castiel and the Incident with Dean. “So I don't really know what's going on,” I concluded. “I'm avoiding the hell out of Dean, Sam seems to be content to let us figure it out ourselves, Castiel is God knows where, and I'm running out of baking chocolate.”

Charlie sat back and blinked. “Wow. Well, what do you want to do? You're clearly half in love with Dean, even if you won't admit it to yourself.” 

I crossed my arms and frowned. “I am not -”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Please, don't bother. Now, here's the million-dollar question – do you want to pursue Dean, or do you want to try to start something new with me?”

I sighed and admitted, “Charlie, as cute as you are, I think I'm leaning towards Dean on this one.”

She shrugged. “That's fine. I mean, I'm not thrilled about it, but whatever. Now what we need to do is figure out a way to make him come to you. That man doesn't know what to do with you. You can't be a one night stand and he doesn't do the girlfriend thing, and I'm thinking he's just as confused as you are.”

“But Charlie, I don't think he's even attracted to me,” I protested.

She gaped at me. “Seriously? You don't see the way he looks at you? And that little thing with the spanking – girl, that was him putting up a billboard.”

“If you say so,” I said doubtfully, “but we're kind of avoiding each other right now.”

Charlie smiled evilly. “Oh, I have a solution for that, and I think it's one that everyone but Dean will enjoy. You'll get to torment Dean, and I'll get to put my hands on you.”

I looked at her oddly and she laughed. “Hey, I've just been resurrected. I'd love to touch a pretty girl, even if it is for show.”

She got up to leave, but I said, “Wait. Important question.” She looked at me expectantly. “Do you like Doctor Who?”

“Kat,” she said, “I love it. I think we just became best friends.” She sat back down, and we spent thirty minutes chatting. I told her about my baking when I was stressed, my regrets about my unfinished doctorate, and my fear every time the boys went out; she told me how she'd met them - “Leviathan? Seriously? Jesus.” - and how she'd died trying to save Dean from the Mark of Cain.

When Charlie and I emerged into the main room, we were holding hands. Sam took one look at our artfully disheveled clothes and blushed bright red, staring at his laptop so hard I though it might burst into flames. Dean was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey Sam,” I said, “Charlie and I are going to go cook dinner. Any requests?” Sam shook his head and managed to mumble something vaguely negative before returning to his laptop. I turned to my new friend. “Okay Charlie, let's go play in the kitchen.”

We headed towards the kitchen, and once we got there, Charlie took a seat on the metal chair in the corner of the room and pulled out her phone. I puttered around, pulling out ingredients for tacos. When we heard footsteps in the hallway, Charlie looked up at me and grinned.

When Dean poked his head around the doorframe, Charlie was kissing me breathless against the wall by the stove. I heard his quick intake of breath, then rapid footsteps leaving the kitchen. I broke away from Charlie and started to laugh. “Oh my God, Charlie, the look on his face,” I hooted, brushing away tears.

Charlie licked her lips clean of my chapstick, looking thoughtful. “Yes,” she said, “I believe this will be very enjoyable for everyone but poor Dean.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three weeks went by. I stopped hiding from Dean, in fact seeking him out, albeit always in Charlie's company. She and I made out in every corner of the bunker Dean might show up in, and we were both thoroughly enjoying ourselves; we may have even indulged in a few snogs that weren't strictly necessary. Dean finally locked himself in his room to avoid us, only emerging for meals, where Charlie and I held hands and made goo-goo eyes at each other.

Finally, Sam stopped me in a hallway during one of the few moments Charlie wasn't with me. “Kat, what the hell are you doing?” he asked.

I looked at him innocently. “Me? What?”

Sam looked exasperated. “This thing with Charlie! It doesn't make sense. You're always together, but she doesn't sleep in your room. You make out everywhere but in private. What are you doing?”

Damn, he'd caught us. “I'm trying to make Dean jealous,” I admitted quietly.

Sam laughed incredulously. “Well, you've certainly succeeded!” he said. “He won't even come out of his room anymore because he doesn't want to see you and Charlie all over each other!”

I shrugged. “Charlie swears up and down he wants me, but I don't see it. She offered to help me out, make him jealous, although I think she might have had some ulterior motives.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “You think?”

“It's not like it matters, Sam,” I said. “I'm enjoying myself too. Hell, if Dean doesn't make a move soon, I may decide I want Charlie for real.”

Sam looked at me, puzzled. “Did I know you liked women?” 

I shrugged again. “I fall in love – or lust – with a person, not a gender.”

I could see Sam thinking, then deciding to pursue that line of questioning later. “Look, Kat,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Dean doesn't know what to do about you. You can't be a one night stand and he doesn't know how to do the girlfriend thing while he's still hunting.”

“Well,” I snapped, getting tired of hearing that, “he'd better figure it out. If he even thinks of me that way, which I seriously doubt.”

Sam looked at me oddly. “Do you really think he doesn't want you?”

“Jesus, Sam!” I burst out. “He treats me like a little sister! There have only been two exceptions to that: one was to make me feel better and the other was to punish me!”

“Ah,” Sam said, “you're referring to the kiss and the spanking.”

“How do you – never mind,” I cut myself off. “Dean must have told you.”

“No, actually Charlie did,” Sam said softly. “Don't get upset with her; she was worried.”

Dammit. I hated people being worried about me; it made me feel guilty and like I wasn't worth it. I bit my lip, like I always did to stave off tears, and Sam noticed. “Hey, hey, Kat, don't cry!” he said with alarm. I hadn't cried in his sight since before Cas' healing, and this display was probably worrying him. He wrapped his arms around me and sank to the floor, pulling me against his shoulder. “What's wrong? What did I say?”

I babbled through my tears about how Dean had kissed me, then pretended it never happened; how he'd spanked me, then avoided me (conveniently forgetting that I had been the one doing most of the avoiding); and how no matter what Cas did I would always be unstable and useless.

Sam just held me, rocking slightly, in the comforting manner he'd quickly mastered during my depressive episodes. When my sobs turned into hiccups, he looked down at me and said quietly, “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize for needing comfort,” he said. “At least you can admit when you do.” He pulled away and looked at me. “I think we may need to see if we can get you into some sort of psychotherapy. I did some research when you first told us about your depression, and the best treatment for it is a combination of therapy and medication. I assume that what Cas did is a substitute for medication, but no one in this bunker is a qualified therapist. It probably doesn't help that you haven't been outside in, like, six weeks.”

I managed a smile. “Yeah, I know. I looked into some online therapists, but they all want a physical address and a credit card to keep on file. I don't think 'Katherine E. Whitaker, Men of Letters Bunker, Lebanon, KS' is going to cut it, and I know we go through credit cards like once a month.”

Sam frowned. “We'll figure something out. In the meantime, let me tell you a few things. No, you are not useless. You put together fifteen pages of obscure research in two hours three weeks ago; I've never met anyone else who could do that. Yes, Dean messed up when he left after punishing you. He was probably pissed at himself for losing his temper, and then worried that you hated him. Finally – yes, Dean wants you. If you had a little more confidence, I think you could probably read the signs yourself.”

I looked up at him. “Fine, let's pretend that's all true. What do I do?”

Sam sighed. “Kat, I am so not qualified to give advice on relationships.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but you're the only person in the world qualified to give advice on Dean.”

He smiled a little. “I suppose that's true. I guess I can give you an idea. You've successfully made him jealous, but he won't move in on someone else's girl. If he thinks you and Charlie are together, he's not going to do anything. Here's my thought, and let me know if or when you want to do it. I'll go out for an hour or so, and you and Charlie have a very public, very loud breakup. Then you go to Dean for comfort, since I won't be here and he would be your only option. Sound good?”

I slowly nodded. “Yeah. Let me talk to Charlie and we'll get this thing planned.”

Sam sighed in relief. “Thank God. The sexual tension in this place is getting unbearable. You know that Dean hasn't gotten laid in like four months? I think it might be a record.”

I smacked him on the shoulder and went to go find the redheaded hacker.

Charlie was perfectly fine with our “breakup,” and I was a little insulted until she told me she'd met someone at the coffee shop about a mile away. We decided that we'd let Dean simmer for another week, then send Sam off and follow our plan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week later, after dinner, I approached Sam in the library. “Sam, why don't you go on a grocery run?” I suggested. He looked at me confusedly, then enlightenment struck and his mouth opened in a silent “oh” of understanding.

“Sure thing, Kat,” he said. He put his books away (I had broken the boys very quickly of leaving their books unshelved) and headed up the stairs towards the garage.

I headed for Charlie's room, quietly opened the door, and said softly, “Plan Breakup is a go.” 

Charlie nodded and whispered, “You know I'm going to say some things I don't mean, right?”

“Me too,” I hissed back, and we tiptoed into the hallway and down to the door of my room, which she opened silently and then slammed.

“God, Kat, you're such a fucking bore!” she said loudly. “All you want to do is bury yourself in your stupid dusty books! You won't even let me digitize them!” She winked at me.

“You CAN'T fucking digitize them, Charlie! The scanner will ruin them! And at least I'm here, not out in town flirting with every woman I can find!” I was stifling giggles.

“I only do that because you won't fuck me! You care more about your stupid books and stupid research than me!” Charlie retorted, suppressing laughter of her own. Oh, good idea, Charlie! Make sure he knows we weren't really physical beyond the kissing. She turned on her heel and began to walk loudly towards her room, which just happened to be right next to Dean's.

I followed her down the hallway. “That's because the books and research are actually there for me, not slutting it up in a bar downtown!”

“Then maybe you should fuck your research and let me sleep with who I want to! At least the girls I meet in the bars put out!” She stomped into her room and slammed the door behind her.

I banged on the door. “Charlie, you bitch! Open the goddamn door!”

“No! I'm done with you!” she yelled back.

I went back into my room and slammed the door behind me, finally letting the laughter out. I pulled out my phone and texted Charlie ::i think that went well::

She replied ::me too. god forbid we ever really get mad at each other::

::do you think he bought it?::

::give it a few minutes, and if he doesnt come to you, you go to him::

::its a plan:: I responded, then put my phone down and leaned against the wall. Just as I was getting ready to see if I could get some tears into my eyes and go find Dean, my phone beeped.

::he just left his room::

Sure enough, I could hear hesitant footsteps coming down the hall. I poked myself in the eyes to make tears form and laid down on my bed, face down, and started fake-sobbing. I heard the door creak open but didn't turn around, sobbing harder and waiting to see what Dean would do.

He paused, then walked quietly into the room and sat down on my bed. He started rubbing my back in circles, slowly, until I surged up and wrapped my arms around his neck. I cried into his shoulder, the tears slowly becoming real as I thought about what would happen if this didn't end well, if he just left again, if Charlie and Sam were wrong about him wanting me. By this point, both brothers were used to me crying on them, so Dean just continued to rub my back and hold me.

Once I had cried myself out, I became uncomfortably aware of the fact that I was straddling Dean's lap. Despite a brief urge to fling myself away, I stayed put and nuzzled into his chest. When he realized I wasn't going to get off of him, he shifted and said, “Um, Kat, were you planning on moving anytime soon?”

“No,” I said in a voice muffled by his shirt. “Do you want me to?”

He hesitated, then said slowly, “Uh, no. Not really.”

“Good,” I said, and wiggled into a more comfortable position.

We must have been sitting there for thirty minutes before Dean pulled away from me slightly. Looking down, he said, “So what just happened?”

I buried my face back into his shirt and said, “I think you heard what just happened. I think most of Kansas heard what just happened.”

He pulled away again and pushed my chin up so that I was looking at him. “No, I mean what caused that...conversation?”

I shrugged. “Our thing was never really serious, and I think we both knew it wasn't going anywhere. We'd been frustrated with each other for a little bit, and finally...” I trailed off.

He nodded. “Finally she exploded, and you gave it right back.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I said dejectedly.

“Kat,” Dean said, “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Ah...are you actually...do you really...”

I took pity on him. “Yes, Dean, I'm bisexual. I don't particularly like that term, but it fits reasonably well.”

“Uh-huh. And were you and Charlie – I mean, you said it wasn't serious, and she said -”

I sighed. “We weren't actually having sex, no. We'll still be friends, I'm sure, although it'll take some cooling off. I care about her, but I'm certainly not in love with her or anything, if that's what you're asking.”

“Good,” Dean said, then lifted my face with both hands and covered my lips with his. I gasped in surprise, allowing him entrance, whereupon he carefully explored every inch of my mouth with his tongue. When he drew back, lips slightly swollen and pupils dilated, he said, “Um, I'm sorry, I didn't -”

“Shut up, Dean,” I muttered, and drew his lips back down to mine. After a moment of surprise, he laid me down on the bed and crawled over me, pressing his body into mine as we kissed. I felt his erection against my stomach and squirmed under him, making him hiss at the stimulation and kiss me harder. He started working at the buttons of my top, swearing under his breath at them, when I took a deep breath and said, “Stop.”

“What?” he said, leaving my shirt alone and looking at me in obvious confusion. “I thought -”

“Dean,” I said slowly. “Do you really want this? I'm not going to be a one time screw or some kind of fuckbuddy. If we do this, we do it right.”

He looked at me in shock. “Of course I want this! I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you. I'd like – I'd like to try to do it right, too.”

With that confirmation, I pushed his unbuttoned flannel shirt off and began scrabbling at the hem of his t-shirt. After a brief second of hesitation, he returned to fighting with the buttons of my top. Once he got it undone, he sat up just long enough to rip his shirt off over his head, and I slipped my arms out of my top and threw it in the general direction of the floor. When skin met skin, we both groaned, and Dean started kissing and biting a line down my neck. He reached under me and undid my bra with one hand – impressive, Winchester – then tossed it across the room and stared down at me. I blushed, fighting the urge to cover myself, as his gaze moved down my torso.

“Jesus, Kat,” he breathed. “Where the hell have you been hiding those?”

I relaxed, laughed, and said, “There's another reason I wear loose clothes. People don't notice my face if these are too obvious.”

“I can see why,” he muttered, then slithered down my body until he could nibble at my breast. I moaned and wove my hands into his hair, guiding his mouth to my nipple. He took the hint and sucked hard, making my back arch and pushing my breast further into his mouth.

“Fuck, Dean,” I moaned.

I felt him smile against my skin, then continue licking and sucking, alternating breasts, until both my nipples were hard and glistening. I was so focused on his attentions to my torso that I didn't notice when his hand slid up my skirt, only registering his fingers when they brushed against the soaked cotton of my underwear. I bucked so hard at the unexpected touch that I almost threw him off me, causing him to chuckle and push me back down with a hand on my stomach.

“Shit,” I gasped, writhing under him, caught between his mouth on my breast and his fingers tapping a rhythm against my cotton-covered clit. I suddenly remembered that he was still wearing pants and moved my hands from his head to his waist, fighting to unbutton his jeans and get them off him. 

Dean laughed breathlessly and pushed my ineffective fingers away, saying, “Stop that, kitten. Let me play with you for a minute.” I shook my head and returned to my fumbling attempts to get his pants off. He grabbed my wrists and effortlessly pinned them above my head, saying in a different, darker voice, “I think I told you to stop.”

I could feel my pupils blow and heat course through me at his tone, and I instinctively let my hands relax in his grip. He felt the change in my body and grinned. “So you like to be told what to do, and you like to be held down. Do you like pain, too? Did that spanking get you all hot and bothered?”

I tensed, then wrenched my hands free of his grasp. Startled at my sudden change of mood, he let me go and backed away, obviously perplexed. I sat up and hissed at him, “If you want to get laid tonight, Dean Winchester, you will not mention that again.” Then I slammed my mouth roughly onto his, making it clear that I'd like to get back to where we were. 

He hesitated for a moment but let me draw him back down on top of me, then broke away from the kiss and crawled further down my body. He hooked his fingers under the high elastic waistband of my skirt and slowly pulled it down, taking my underwear with it and baring me to his gaze. Once again, I fought the urge to cover myself with my hands, instead grabbing the blankets and twisting them as I closed my eyes. I tried not to mentally catalog each stretch mark and scar on my thighs and stomach that he was slowly revealing, but was failing miserably when I heard a quick intake of breath from above me. I opened my eyes, prepared for disgust, and instead saw Dean looking down at me with awe in his eyes.

“God, Katherine, you're beautiful,” he breathed.

I blushed, then tried to defuse the moment by saying, “Well, you're not so bad yourself.”

He grinned at me and said, “Thanks,” then worked his way back down until his head was level with the junction of my legs. He began kissing and nipping at the inside of my thighs, gently coaxing them open, until my knees lay splayed on either side of his head. However, when he began kissing his way up further, I blushed and tried to close my legs.

Dean looked up at me in confusion. “What's wrong?”

“I've never – I mean, no one's ever -” I stammered.

A look of shock passed over his face. “Son of a bitch. You're telling me no one's ever eaten you out?”

I shook my head silently, embarrassed.

“I really am gonna kill that man,” he muttered, then said, “Well then, kitten, you're in for a treat. Put your hands above your head and don't move them, okay?” 

“Kitten? Really?” I giggled.

“Your name is Kat, you're just begging to be called kitten in bed.” His hands spread my legs again, implacably forcing them far enough apart that he could get his head between them. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, clutching at the pillowcase behind my head and trying to relax. When I felt the first brush of his nose against my sex, I jumped, and he laughed into me. I could feel the vibrations and I hissed wordlessly, instinctively pushing my hips forward to search out more stimulation. Dean obliged, licking a long swipe up from the bottom of my dripping entrance to my clit, then wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub and gently sucking on it. When I twisted and pushed forward into his mouth, he put his hands on my hips and held them firmly to the bed, changing his sucking to firm licks against my clit.

“Fuck,” I gasped, finally finding my words. “Fuck, Dean, don't you dare fucking stop that.”

I felt him smile, then carefully slip one finger into me, still licking that perfect spot. I knew he was going to have to do some work if he wanted to fuck me; I hadn't had sex in close to five years, and even his thick finger was a tight fit. He began slowly thrusting the finger in and out, and I felt my orgasm beginning to build in the pit of my stomach. I gasped and whined, not caring how much noise I was making, just that Dean didn't stop moving that ridiculously talented tongue. A particularly hard thrust from his finger sent me over the edge and I came with a loud moan, my hips bucking against his hand as he worked me though one of the best orgasms I'd ever had.

Once the last delicious tremor had subsided, he gave me a very self-satisfied look from his position between my thighs. I could see my wetness all over his face, and he licked his lips lasciviously. “So, kitten, what did you think?”

I laughed breathlessly and said, “Come up here so I can kiss you.”

He obliged, crawling up my body and kissing me deeply. I slid my tongue against his, tasting myself on him and content to kiss him for eternity, until he shifted uncomfortably. Then I remembered that he hadn't gotten anything out of that particular activity, except maybe vicariously, and reached down for his pants. This time, he let me unbutton and unzip them, then stood up and pushed his jeans and his boxers to the floor. I stayed on the bed with my legs spread, replete in my afterglow, and enjoyed the expanse of tanned skin in front of me. He noticed my gaze and turned around, saying teasingly, “Do you like what you see?”

“'Course I do,” I said. “Come back to bed.”

“You're awful bossy all of a sudden,” Dean murmured as he climbed back onto the bed. I glanced down and saw his cock bobbing against his stomach, and suddenly I had to touch him. 

I sat up before he could lower himself down on top of me, and said, “No, you lay down. It's my turn.” Dean shook his head at my continuing imperious tone, but laid down on his back next to me. I wrapped my fingers around his cock and it jumped in my hand as he hissed. I straddled his thighs and began to move my hand up and down, exploring each ridge and vein, running my fingertips over the head and discovering what made him moan and thrust up into my hand. When I bent down to take him in my mouth, though, he stopped me. 

“Kitten,” he said hoarsely, “if you do that, this is gonna to end real quick.” I sighed, regretfully removing my hand, as he pushed me down on my back and lowered his body back between my open legs. When the head of his cock brushed against my soaked lips, we both hissed.

“I really wanna to fuck you, but you're so tight I'm worried I'll hurt you,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Well,” I replied matter-of-factly, “I haven't had sex in five years. It'd be odd if I weren't tight.”

Distracted, he raised up and looked at me. “Five years?” he repeated incredulously.

I shrugged as best I could. “Yeah. I'd sworn off one night stands after some unfortunate decisions in college, and I certainly wasn't interested in another relationship, but I had my fingers. It wasn't really a big deal.”

Dean shook his head slowly. “Kitten, I believe I'd have exploded before I hit one year, let alone five.”

“Well,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck, “why don't you get back down there and see if you can stretch me a little more, so we can break my overly-long dry spell?”

He shook his head ruefully. “I think I've created a monster,” he muttered. He untangled my arms from his neck and put them above my head as he slid back down to where I wanted him. Just watching the muscles move under the golden skin of his back was enough to spark my arousal again, and I watched with hooded eyes as he spread my legs open as far as they would go. He slipped his index finger inside me again, this time curling it against my walls as he placed a gentle kiss on my clit. I moaned and reached down to thread my hands into his hair, but as soon as he felt me touch his head, he stopped. 

“Kitten,” Dean said warningly, “hands above your head, where I put them.” I whimpered, but returned my hands to the pillow above my head. Just as he placed the first lick on my clit, he pushed his middle finger into me to join the index. I groaned at the stretch; it wasn't painful yet, but it would be if he wasn't extremely careful. He kept licking at me as he began slowly scissoring his fingers, somehow managing to keep the sensations just on the right side of pain. When he inserted the third finger, I gasped and felt the familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach. As he moved all three fingers, he switched from licking broad stripes up my clit to making small circles around it, and my noises changed from moans to high-pitched whines. I was close, I was so close, I just needed a little more, and then he scraped his teeth gently over the delicate bundle of nerves and everything went white.

When I came back to reality, Dean was licking his fingers clean. I shuddered and moaned at the sight of that talented tongue wrapping itself around his long fingers, and he returned his attention to me. “I think you're stretched enough,” he said, “but if it hurts, if it hurts at all, you tell me, okay?”

I nodded in agreement and watched as he stretched his body out over me, spreading my legs to accommodate him. He rolled his hips against me teasingly, then froze. “Shit. Do you keep condoms in here?”

I rolled my eyes. “Five years, Dean, what do you think? But I have an IUD, and I'm clean. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said, “clean bill of health three months ago, and no one since.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” I asked impatiently.

In response, he began to push into me, so slowly that I bucked under him and grabbed his hips, intending to force him to move faster. Instead, he gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head again, still moving at a glacial pace. 

“Dammit, Dean,” I whined, “please!” But he didn't let go, and he didn't move faster. Finally he bottomed out, and we both groaned. I felt exquisitely full, again just on the right side of pain from the stretch. He began to withdraw, just as slowly, and this was simply not acceptable. _Let's see if I can still do this..._ I tightened myself around him, and he swore and thrust into me hard before he regained control.

“Kitten has some tricks of her own, huh?” he said breathlessly.

I writhed under him, wanting him to move. “See, Dean, I won't break, now please quit teasing and fuck me!” I pleaded.

His eyes darkened, and he growled, “You sound so pretty when you beg.”

I tucked that comment away for later exploration and tilted my hips towards him, whining wordlessly. Finally he gave in and began to move, at first slowly then picking up speed, his hips slamming into mine. I wrapped my legs around his waist and moved with him, enjoying the sensation of sex after five years that had in fact been way too long, despite what I had told him earlier. I was surprised when I begin to feel warmth coiling in my stomach again; not only had I already had two mind-blowing orgasms, but I never came during sex. I moaned as his thrusts became faster and faster and the heat in my stomach coiled tighter and tighter, and then I felt his lips on my ear. “Come,” he growled, and I did, shattering into a million pieces under him. Dimly I felt his thrusts become ragged, then he drove into me hard as he muffled a cry with his teeth in my neck.

We stayed there for a minute, coming down from our respective highs, until he groaned and rolled off of me. He got up and I froze for a minute, afraid he was going to put his clothes back on and leave, despite what he had said to me earlier. But no, he stretched then padded towards the bathroom, emerging with a damp cloth. “Let's clean up a bit, hmm?” he said with a smile. “Skin-on-skin is great, but messy.” I nodded drowsily in agreement and reached for the cloth, but he held it out of my reach and said, “Let me?”

I nodded again and relaxed, letting him gently wash me clean, then wipe himself off. He threw the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom before climbing back into bed with me, wrapping me up in his arms and pulling me back against his chest.

“Are you sure you and Charlie are going to be okay?” he murmured against my head. 

I giggled sleepily. “Dean, if I tell you somethin', you promise not to get mad?”

He tensed. “Okay,” he said slowly.

I rolled over to face him. “Charlie and I were never really a thing. It was all totally a plot to get into your pants.”

He gaped at me for a second, then burst into laughter. “Seriously?” he said between snickers. “You could have just walked up to me and said 'Hey, wanna fuck?' and I'd have stripped right there.”

I buried my face in his chest. “Well, I didn't know that,” I said tartly. “'Specially after the Incident.”

“What incident?” he asked, still fighting back chuckles.

“Talk 'bout it inna mornin',” I yawned, feeling my eyes close.

“Okay,” he said softly, kissing the top of my head as I drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last completed chapter. Hopefully seven will be up in a couple of days, but eight may take a little longer. :(


	7. Important Conversations, Handcuffs, and Men Who Might Live Up to the Hype

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo more sex

When I woke up, I couldn't quite remember why there was someone in bed with me. Then I shifted and felt the soreness between my legs, and the memories came rushing back; I rolled over to look at Dean, who was still fast asleep with his arm over my waist. He looked so young and innocent when he slept, and I didn't want him to wake up. I was sure that when he did, he was going to regret last night and we were going to have to have an awkward conversation.

That misconception was quickly corrected when he yawned and opened his eyes, then ran them over my naked torso. “What a nice sight to wake up to in the morning,” he murmured, and buried his face between my breasts. His stubble tickled, and I giggled and pushed him away.

“Quit,” I said, “at least until you've shaved.” He pouted at me, and I had to fight the urge to lean over and bite his bottom lip.

“I really don't wanna get dressed. Or leave this room,” he said thoughtfully. “You should go get food, and then we don't have to leave again.”

“Why do I have to do it?” I whined.

“Cause,” he said simply.

“That is a terrible reason, and you're lucky I like you,” I grumbled. I reached into my dresser and pulled out a fresh pair of underwear, but getting dressed just sounded like way too much effort. So I slipped into Dean's shirt. It was just a quick trip to the kitchen, right?

Of course it wasn't that easy, and I was stupid for thinking it would be. Charlie stepped out of her room at the same time I stepped out of mine, and when she saw what I was wearing, her mouth dropped open. Before she could say anything, I dragged her around a corner so Dean wouldn't hear us. “It worked that well, huh?” she said, looking me up and down.

“Shut up,” I hissed, then smiled. “Yeah. It was awesome. He's awesome. Minor downside: now he won't get out of my room, but I think I can work with that.”

Charlie snickered. “I bet you can!” she teased. When I turned to walk past her towards the kitchen, she grabbed my ass, and I whirled and glared. “For old times' sake,” she laughed, “and also because you look absolutely delicious in that shirt.”

I grinned at her and continued on my way towards the kitchen. I met no one else on my way there, and so when I walked into the kitchen I wasn't expecting anyone there either.

However, Sam and Castiel – when had he come back? - were standing over the stove. Sam appeared to be trying to teach Cas how to scramble eggs. Judging by the smell, it wasn't going particularly well, and I tried to sneak out before they saw me. Unfortunately, the damn angel had ears like a bat. He turned around to look at me, knocking the pan off the stove and setting Sam to cursing. “What the Hell, Cas -” he started, then caught sight of me as well and stood up, leaving the mess on the floor. He looked me up and down, then leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “So going by what you're wearing and that mark on your neck, the plan worked well, huh?”

I blushed and stammered, “Uh, I just need – I mean we just need – something to – ah -”

Sam took pity on me and handed me a basket of snacks that he had apparently prepared for just this eventuality, along with a bottle of Coke and two of the lemon bars I had made yesterday. “Go,” he said, making shooing motions. “Back to your den of iniquity.”

I turned tail and fled, hearing a befuddled voice in the distance, “What plan? What den of iniquity? Why is Kat wearing Dean's shirt with no -” 

I sighed in relief when I reached the safety of my room. When I opened the door, I was greeted by the sight of Dean going through my night table. “What are you doing, Dean?” I said, trying to be irritated but failing miserably. Hard to be angry when there's a beautiful naked man in your room.

He turned around and held up a pair of handcuffs. “Really, Kat? You hadn't had sex in five years, but you keep a pair of handcuffs in your nightstand?”

I blushed. “Shut up. When I packed up my stuff, I just kind of dumped a whole drawer into a box and forgot the cuffs were in there. When I went to unpack once we got here, I didn't know what to do with them, so I stuck them in the night table.” I put the food down on top of my dresser, then leaned against it. “Why are you going through my things?”

Dean shrugged. “Curiosity? Boredom? Loneliness because you were gone forever?” He gave me the saddest eyes I'd ever seen, outside Sam's puppy dog look.

I sighed. “I would say curiosity killed the cat, but I'm sure you'd have a smartass response that made some sort of salacious reference to my name.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Salacious, huh? Have I ever told you that it's incredibly hot when you use words like that?”

“Uh, words like what?”

“You know, words like 'moreover' and 'lascivious' and 'abhorrent.' Big words.”

“So is it hot when Sam uses big words?” I teased.

He made a face, dropped the handcuffs back in the drawer, and sat down on the bed. “Ugh, gross. Don't bring my little brother into this. But seriously, what took you so long?”

I groaned. “Well, first I ran into Charlie, who was very pleased with herself and wanted to know how everything went, then when I got to the kitchen Sam and Cas were there.”

Dean looked surprised. “Cas is back?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And he had a lot of really awkward questions.”

Dean snickered. “I bet. Why did he leave in the first place? You were the last one that saw him.”

Well, apparently we were discussing the Incident now.

“He helped me draw on the Impala,” I replied, “and he was scared of what you'd do when you got into my room. So he poofed.” I paused, then continued, “Apparently he was right to be scared.”

Dean winced. “Look, Kat -” he began.

“No, you look,” I interrupted. “You had to know something was wrong. I was baking at an obscene rate, eating ice cream faster than y'all could buy it, and actively hiding from you. But you didn't talk to me, you didn't apologize – you didn't even acknowledge it happened. Instead, I had to figure out how to make those actions mesh with the man I trusted and thought I knew, and believe me, it was a bitch; I have terrible trust issues, Dean, and you had just pushed all buttons I have. I cried myself to sleep more than once. Cas was gone, I was scared to tell Sam – the only reason I snapped out of it was that Charlie showed up.”

Dean had gotten paler and paler as I spoke. He whispered, “Oh God, Kat, I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?”

“You hit me! Even the first night we met, when you had no idea who I was or what I could do, you didn't hit me. I kicked you, slapped you, left some awesome bruises, but you didn't hurt me, you just restrained me. This came out of left field! I didn't know if you understood how upset I was or if you were just too pissed to care.” I swallowed hard. “What made it worse is that yes, I liked it. I was so turned on, but you just – left. I figured you were disgusted by me.”

Dean got up and started towards me, then hesitated. “Can I hold you while I talk?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “Yes. Please.”

I didn't even see him move before he was wrapping his arms around me so tightly I could barely breathe and burying his face in my hair. “I never meant to scare you,” he whispered into the top of my head. “I was so freaked out – you'd never touched Baby before, and it was like that one thing represented all the changes in you over the last few weeks; I ended up taking my fear out on you. I'm so sorry. Tell me what to do to fix it.”

I pulled away and looked up at him. “Dean, you can't 'fix' it. It's not a rattling noise in the Impala. What you can do is tell me that you will never threaten me or touch me without my permission again.” I paused, then added, “Unless it's been negotiated in advance,” and winked, trying to lighten the mood.

Dean grinned, clearly relieved I didn't hate him. “So, can I tell you something?” he asked.

I moved away and sat down on the bed. “Sure. Go for it.”

He came over and sat next to me, then pushed my hair out of the way and whispered in my ear, “The reason I left so fast after the spanking is because I was hard as a rock, and if I'd stayed any longer I would have jumped you.”

I smiled up at him. “Well, that would have made things much more clear.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess it would have.”

“But then Charlie wouldn't have gotten to put her hands all over me,” I mused, “although poor Sam would have been relieved that the sexual tension was resolved.”

He looked at me, shocked. “Sam knew? He's usually totally blind to stuff like that.”

“Dean, he's the one that came up with the plan. I mean, Charlie and I came up with the 'snog all over the bunker' part, but Sam was the one who figured out we were faking. He told me to break up with Charlie loudly right outside your room, then wait for you to come comfort me. He even left so you'd be the only one who could.”

A flash of anger crossed Dean's face, then disappeared under amusement. “Sammy came up with that? Seriously?”

“Yes!” I laughed. “He's not as oblivious as you think he is.”

“There you go again, kitten,” Dean said huskily.

“What?” I looked at him, confused.

“Using words like that,” he growled, just before attacking my mouth with his. I moaned and kissed him back, pushing on his chest until he fell back on his elbows, then laid down flat on the bed. I followed him, keeping our lips together, until I was sprawled on top of him with my legs on either side of his hips. I broke away from his mouth and trailed kisses down his neck to his collarbone, nipping and sucking along the way. 

After sucking a beautiful mark into the junction of his neck and shoulder, I sat back, straddling his hips and teasingly grinding down onto his cock. Since he was naked and I was still wearing underwear and his shirt, it had more effect on him than me, and he hissed and rutted up against me. He ran his hands under my shirt and tweaked my nipples, making me groan and move against him faster. He moaned at the stimulation and withdrew his hands, moving them to the bottom button of the shirt I was wearing. Caressing each inch of skin he revealed, he unfastened each button slowly until I was the one moaning.

When he finally got the shirt off me, he frowned at my underwear. “Off,” he insisted, tugging at the waistband. I shook my head and leaned down to kiss his neck again, this time working my way down to his chest and his pecs. I licked and sucked at his nipples until they were tiny glistening points and he was pulling insistently at my underwear, trying to get them off me whether I liked it or not. I took pity and raised up just long enough to pull the lacy garment off, then returned to my position straddling his hips. This time, though, I carefully didn't touch his cock, instead rubbing myself against his thigh. He whined – Dean Winchester actually whined – and reached for me but I slapped his hands away, making him growl in frustration.

Suddenly, I found myself on my back with Dean looming over me, pinning my wrists above my head in a familiar way. “You. Are. Such. A. Tease,” he accused, punctuating each word with a nip to my neck. 

I grinned up at him, breathing hard. “Who, me?”

“Yeah, you,” he hissed, shifting to hold my wrists with one hand and kissing me deeply. I was distracted by the kiss and didn't see him fumbling in my nightstand with his other hand until I felt cold metal click around my wrists.

I pulled instinctively, but he'd managed to get the chain of the cuffs behind a bar on the headboard and I wasn't going anywhere. A rush of arousal washed through me at the dark look on Dean's face as he saw his handiwork. “As soon as I found those, I was picturing you like this,” he breathed. “Hell, when I cuffed you to the bed the night we met, I was picturing you like this.”

I rolled my hips suggestively against him. “Okay, you've got me cuffed,” I said breathlessly. “What's your next move?”

“Now,” he said in a low voice, “it's my turn to tease.”

“Didn't you get enough of that last night?” I asked, pulling at the cuffs again.

He smiled down at me, his expression full of a dark anticipation. “Oh, kitten, that was nothing.”

Shit. This was either going to be amazing or miserable. Possibly both.

He started with his lips on my neck, kissing the marks he'd left the night before and sucking new ones into unmarked skin. When he found the spot in the dip of my collarbone that always drove me crazy, he sucked and licked and kissed until I was moaning and twisting under him. Once I had a spectacular hickey there, he moved down my chest, stopping to nuzzle between my breasts. I laughed softly at the unexpected tickle, saying, “You still haven't shaved, quit!”

He grinned up at me, then turned his head and deliberately scraped his stubble across my nipple. I whimpered at the unexpected pleasure-pain, turning my head from side to side blindly. When he put those talented lips lightly on my nipple, though, I gasped and arched my back, shoving my breast as far up as I could. Of course, he pulled back as I arched, leaving me with the same light touch no matter how much I strained upwards.

“Fuck, Dean,” I pleaded. “Please!”

He pulled away from my breast – no, no, that's the opposite of what I wanted! – and looked at me, then said, “Begging already, kitten? We've got a long ways to go...”

I was definitely leaning towards miserable now.

He leaned down and took the same abused nipple back in his mouth, this time torturing and teasing it with teeth and tongue until I was panting and moaning. I couldn't believe he was doing this, making me this desperate, without even touching my clit. When he finally moved to the other breast, I was about ready to scream from overstimulation. He licked and sucked that nipple until it was just as hard as the other, then began kissing his way down my stomach.

I bit my tongue and writhed under him, pleading wordlessly for him to please just touch me where I needed him to; I refused to give him the satisfaction of begging again. As he moved lower and lower, my movements grew more frantic until he placed a hand on my stomach to hold me still. Then he planted one kiss between my hips and started kissing down the inside of my thigh.

“Son of a bitch,” I hissed, momentarily considering kicking him.

He smirked up at me. “Something wrong, kitten?” he asked innocently.

“I'm going to kill you,” I moaned, throwing my head back into the pillows in annoyance.

He grinned. “No, you aren't,” he said, “you're a librarian and I'm an experienced hunter. Pretty sure I'd have you tied to something before you could even take a swing,” then returned to nibbling at my knee. When he reached my ankle, he switched to the other leg, this time slowly kissing his way from my ankle up. When he reached the junction of my legs, he began placing soft kisses on my inner thighs, carefully avoiding where I wanted him to touch me most. I started cursing softly under my breath, keeping up a stream of “dammits,” “fucks,” and “son of a bitchs” that would have impressed even foul-mouthed Charlie.

When Dean finally traced his fingers gently over my slick clit, I shuddered and bucked hard enough to dislodge the hand on my stomach. “Whoa there, kitten,” he murmured, immediately removing his fingers. I whined and pushed my hips forward, needing him to fucking touch me already, but he just laughed softly and returned to kissing my thighs. 

When I started muttering “I hate you I hate you I hate you” under my breath, he stopped altogether and raised up.

“Kitten,” he said warningly, “if you keep insulting me, I'll leave you here until dinner.”

I immediately bit my tongue. I might actually die if he did that.

He resumed his worship of my thighs, this time moving closer and closer to where I needed him. When I finally felt his breath on my clit, I jerked involuntarily then forced myself to be still, remembering what had happened last time I had moved. He licked a broad stripe up my dripping sex, then began circling my clit with his amazing wonderful fantastic tongue. My hips shifted and my back arched despite myself as I felt my climax building rapidly, and just as I was about to fall over the edge, Dean stopped.

“Fuck!” I swore, yanking at the cuffs. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

“All in good time, kitten,” Dean smirked from his position between my sprawled legs, and bent back down. That incredible tongue circled my clit again, then began lapping at it like an ice cream cone. He slid two fingers into me and began pumping them in and out, keeping time with the licking, until I felt the heat coiling tightly in my stomach once more. I was just about to explode when he stopped. Again.

“Dammit, Dean!” I cried.

He looked up at me innocently. “Do you need me to do something?”

“You know damn well what I need you to do,” I snapped.

“You're being so rude.”

“No, what's rude is you being an asshole and not letting me fucking finish!”

“Tell you what, kitten, you be polite and I'll be polite. You go first. Why don't you beg for me?”

“Seriously?” I hissed.

He smiled darkly. “Yeah, seriously.”

When I didn't say anything, just continued glowering at him, he slowly slid one finger over my sensitive clit. I bit off a moan and thrust my hips up, only for him to immediately remove the stimulation. I swore at him and banged my head against the pillows in frustration.

“You know what you need to do,” he said, looking at me from hooded eyes. When my silence continued, he continued teasing me, bringing me just to the edge of orgasm, then backing away until I was ready to cry from frustration and overstimulation.

“Please, Dean,” I finally whimpered.

He continued tapping my clit with just the tip of his finger. “I'm sure you can do better than that, kitten.”

“Please, Dean, please, fuck, just let me come, please!” I cried.

He looked up at me. “Yeah, you beg so pretty. Stay still,” he ordered, and went back to his task.

I tried, I tried so hard to stay still, and it must have been good enough for him. He went back to lapping at my clit and fucking me with his fingers, harder and harder until the orgasm that had been building for so long was finally unleashed, sending me over the edge with such force that I couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think for what seemed like eternity.

When I eventually came down, my hands were free and Dean was kneeling between my legs, pumping his cock slowly. “Worth the wait?” he asked slyly, even though he damn well knew the answer.

“I must say, Dean Winchester,” I panted, “you definitely live up to the hype.” He grinned smugly, then pulled me upright and onto his lap, where I straddled his thighs and sank down on his cock. I was dripping wet and he slid in easily, meeting no resistance until he bottomed out. 

He fucked me hard and fast and I went along for the ride, clinging to his shoulders and moving my hips with his. When the rough thrusts stuttered and came to a halt, Dean moaning out his climax against my shoulder, I ran my fingers through his short hair while he came down.

He pulled out with a grimace and rolled over onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes and groaning, “Your turn to clean up. I don't think my legs work.”

“You don't think YOUR legs work?” I retorted, but got up and wobbled shakily towards the bathroom. When I stepped over to the sink to dampen the washcloth, I saw myself in the mirror and stopped abruptly. “Whoa,” I whispered. I had bruises and marks all over my neck and shoulders, with the worst being the spot in the dip of my collarbone. I looked like I'd been mauled, which I suppose I kind of had.

When I returned to the bedroom holding the wet cloth, I saw that Dean still had his forearm over his eyes. I thought about those bruises that I was going to have to cover up somehow, the many orgasms he had jerked away from me, and the way he had made me beg to come, then looked speculatively at the washcloth I was holding. I hadn't bothered to let the water heat up, thinking we were warm enough already, so the cloth was cold and dripping. I tiptoed over to him and balled the washcloth up right above his cock.

Then I squeezed.

The icy water dripping on him sent him flying upright, clutching at his crotch and yelping. When he saw me convulsed in giggles a few feet away, he lunged and dragged me back onto the bed, then snatched the washcloth from me. He pinned my arms down at my sides and looked down at me, raising an eyebrow. “You thought that was funny, huh?”

My continuing laughter was his answer, and he released my arms just long enough for him to put my wrists above my head and hold them there with one hand. With the other, he put the cloth on the nightstand and began gently running his fingertips over my ribs. “Stop, Dean! That tickles!” I panted between giggles.

“That's kinda the idea,” he replied, investigating further a spot that had made me twist to get away.

After a few minutes of this, I finally gave in. “Please, Dean, please stop,” I gasped out. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop!”

He stopped, letting go of my hands and moving off me once I finally caught my breath. “Well,” he asked, picking up the washcloth and beginning to clean me off, “would you rather have that or a spanking for punishment?”

“Spanking,” I replied quickly. I could see him pondering this answer for a moment, then stashing it away for further use.

While he digested that and wiped himself down, I decided it was my turn. “Dean,” I asked, “did you know you were leaving all these marks on my neck?” His guilty look was answer enough, and I slapped him on the chest. “It's freaking June, asshat! I can't exactly wear turtlenecks!”

He tried to rationalize. “Well, you hardly ever go outside, and everyone in the bunker already knows what's going on, so I figured -”

“No,” I cut him off. I was not happy. “You were staking a claim, weren't you? Like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “You and Sammy are awfully touchy-feely, and I don't want him to get ideas,” he muttered. “Not to mention you spent the last month all over Charlie.”

“Dean, I feel for Sam the exact same way you do. I mean, sure, he's tall, and chiseled, and has those adorable dimples, and those gorgeous hands, and that fantastic ass, and -”

“Yes, okay, thank you,” Dean interjected. “How about not raving about Sam's ass while you're naked in bed with me?” 

I smirked. “See? Staking a claim. But seriously, I only see Sam as a brother.”

He looked suspiciously at me, then seemed to accept my statement. “Okay, whatever. Now -” he gave a huge yawn “- if you don't mind and you won't feel neglected, I'm going to take a nap.”

“No problem,” I assured him, kissing him on the forehead. “I'd like to read a little and try to come down from my spectacular high.”

He gave me a self-satisfied smile, then turned over and went to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Dean woke up two hours later, I was curled up next to him with my Alison Weir book and my phone. I had eaten a snack, and now I was reading about 'Doomed Queen Jane' and listening with half an ear to Taylor Swift. I figured Dean was asleep and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

I was absorbed in the book and only noticed he was awake when he rumbled in my ear, “Did I know you studied Tudor history?” 

I jumped, then replied, “Probably not. It's more of a hobby than an actual academic pursuit, which is why I'm reading Weir instead of Loades.” I frowned up at him as I realized something odd. “Did I know you knew enough about history to recognize this as Tudor?”

He winked and said, “Hey, you hang around nerds long enough, you pick up some things. What is this shit you're listening to?”

In pretended indignation, I said, “You don't recognize one of the most popular musicians in the world? It's the glorious Taylor Swift!”

Instead of picking up my phone and turning it off in disgust as I expected, he looked thoughtful. “Do you have 'Shake It Off' on there? That song is freaking awesome.”

I laughed in incredulity. “Okay, I'll add it to my 'Dean Playlist.'”

“You have a 'Dean Playlist?'”

“I made it while you were sleeping. If we're going to be spending a lot of time around each other – like, more that we have been – you're going to have to put up with my need to listen to music nonstop. So, a playlist of songs that we will both enjoy.”

He picked up my phone, I assumed to try to find the playlist, but seemed baffled by the interface. “How does this thing work?”

I looked at him strangely. “You have a smartphone, Dean, they all run on the same basic principle.”

“I think mine is like five years older than this, though,” he said, poking at the touchscreen with one finger.

“Okay, give me that,” I said, snatching it away from him and turning off the music. I pulled up the playlist and quickly added “Shake It Off” to the list. “So we have on this playlist: Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Heart, Bon Jovi, Blue Oyster Cult, AC/DC, Foreigner, Kansas, Styx, Cheap Trick, and apparently Taylor Swift.”

I looked up from my phone to see that his mouth had dropped open. He managed to shut it, then asked, “Why do you even have all this music? You listen to – well – pop shit. Anything on a Top 40 station. Why is there so much classic rock on your phone?”

I shook my head sadly. “Bless your heart. Did you really think a girl from North Carolina wouldn't at least be familiar with Lynyrd Skynyrd? Southern rock, baby.” I grinned. “This is also the music I was raised on. I knew every word of 'Livin' On a Prayer' by the time I was five. It was only when I went away to high school that I started listening to pop. It was my little rebellion.” I shrugged. “Most teenagers dye their hair purple or get weird piercings; I started listening to trashy music.”

He looked at me strangely, then sat up and wound his hands into my hair. “Never dye your hair, okay?” he said. “Never cut it, never dye it. It's beautiful. When Sam pulled you out of the backseat of the Impala, the night he rescued you from the vampire, the first thing I saw was this glorious waterfall of auburn hair.”

Okay, this was weird. I tried to defuse the moment by joking, “I didn't know you could be that poetic, Dean.”

He was still looking at me intently. “Promise me. Promise me you'll never do anything to your hair, okay?”

Whatever. “Okay, I promise. Now,” I winced, “please stop pulling it.”

He tugged a bit, grinning at me. “Why?”

“Because it's really turning me on and you need to eat something before I jump you again!”

His eyes darkened as his pupils blew, and he jerked my head back by my hair. He nipped at my exposed throat, then kissed his way down to my breast, thus putting paid to the idea of getting him to eat before we went at it again.

“Sure, I'll eat something,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “I'll eat you.” He let go of my hair and slithered downwards, parting my legs and beginning to lick at my clit with no further ado. This man had a – _Jesus Christ_ – serious kink for – _if you stop that I'll kill you_ – eating me out.

I mean, not that I was complaining.


	8. Hell Gates, Hair Dye, and Men Who Were Gone for Way Too Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a chapter at 6:23 in the morning because I'm trying to write a paper on Carnegie libraries and am up at this unholy hour

I lay on my back, panting, trying to recover from my third mind-blowing orgasm of the day. After the hair-pulling-incited round, Dean had eaten while I took a quick nap, then woken me up with his tongue on my clit. “Are we done with this whole havin' sex all day thing yet?”

Dean laughed at me. “Kat, it's only like three o'clock.”

I picked my head up to look at him, then flopped back down onto the pillow. “Bull. It's got to be at least six.”

He picked up my phone. “Ah, no. it is 3:17 pm.”

“Oh my God,” I moaned. “You're gonna kill me with sex.”

He snickered again, lying down next to me and wiggling his arm underneath my shoulders. I rolled over and laid my head on his chest as he said, “There are definitely worse ways to go. Did you know that your accent is coming through?”

“Yeah,” I yawned into his chest. “It happens when I'm cryin' or super tired. That's another thing that makes me a horrible Southerner – I talk like a damn Yankee half the time.” I raised up to look at him. “You know I was twelve 'fore I figgered out 'damn Yankee' was two words? Grandma and Momma always said 'em together.”

He was laughing again. “You sound like a little redneck. It's pretty damn cute.”

I slapped his chest. “Shut up. Quit insultin' my heritage.”

The laughter trailed off, then he said, “It's actually kind of cool that you know your heritage. Me and Sammy, I mean, we know who our grandparents were and what they did, but that's about it. You, though – you've traced your family back into the 1800s, and that was the only thing that let us gank that ghost back in North Carolina.”

“Genealogy has always been kinda a popular thing in my family, but Momma took it to new heights. We went through my grandparents' papers and pictures – the same grandmother y'all met, actually – and found letters from Confederate soldiers, old daguerreotypes, and a notebook that actually recorded my grandpa's family history from the time the first McLamb stepped off the boat in 1789. We got stuck on my grandmother's family after a couple of generations, though. Maiden names and other name changes are a bitch to trace, so that was when I got online. Part of that trace brought up Lizzie and her diary.” I paused. “So, actually, you and Sam killed my great-great-great-great-great grandma. Technically.”

“In our defense,” Dean said, “she was killing people. Also, she was already dead. Technically.”

“I'd offer to poke around y'all's family tree and see what I can find, but I'm afraid I'd uncover some sort of deep dark secret and get myself killed somehow,” I said, only half joking. Men of Letters, a whole family of hunters, Cain being a distant ancestor – no, this was not a genealogical dig I was particularly interested in.

Dean sighed regretfully. “You're right. You'd probably discover we're distantly related to Crowley or something.”

I snorted. “That would be great. 'Uh, sorry for not inviting you to the family reunion, cuz, but we were afraid you'd try to destroy the world again.'”

As Dean opened his mouth to reply, there was a knock at the door. “Seriously?” he groused. “Do you think we can ignore it?”

The knock came again, louder and more insistent, this time accompanied by Sam's voice. “Dean, we have a problem!”

“One day,” Dean said under his breath. “I wanted one day to enjoy my new girl, not have to get dressed, do whatever I wanted. But noooo, of course not. Jesus Christ.” He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, not bothering with underwear or a shirt. When I realized he was actually planning on opening the door, I squeaked and dove under the blankets.

From my position under three layers of fabric, I heard Dean say, “The world had better be ending, Sam, or I swear to God -”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sam cut him off. “Something's brewing in Montana, and it's sending serious ripples through reality. I've got a plague of locusts in Zortman, a river of blood in Chinook, three giant frogs spouting prophecies in Lewistown, and the sun's gone out in Fort Benton.”

“Giant frogs spouting prophecies?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Um, yes,” Sam said. “They're approximately four feet wide and they're speaking ancient Greek.”

Shit. I knew what this was. I poked my head out from under the blankets. “Guys, those are signs of the end times from Revelation. Sam, shut the door so I can get dressed. I need to hit the library.” Sam looked at me for a second, then silently obeyed.

I got out of bed and walked over to the dresser, pulling out clothes and hurriedly getting dressed. When I was done, I went into the bathroom to pull my hair back out of my way. Just as I started to wrap the hair tie around the messy ponytail, a hand grabbed my wrist and Dean said, “Leave it down.”

“Let go, Dean,” I said. “It gets in the way when I'm researching if I don't pull it back.”

He sighed and released my wrist, walking back into the bedroom to get dressed himself. “I wish you'd wear your hair down more,” he called. 

“Dean,” I said in exasperation, “can we discuss my hairstyle after you and Sam save the world again?” Receiving only silence from his direction, I walked out of the bathroom and saw Dean sitting on the bed and rubbing his hands over his face. “What's wrong?” I asked, sitting down next to him and laying my head on his shoulder.

“I'm just...tired,” he said slowly. “Tired of fighting all the time, tired of saving the world, just...tired.”

I looked at him in sympathy. Sometimes I forgot he was thirty-seven and had never really had a normal life. “I know, honey,” I said quietly. “But hey – when you come home from this one, I'll be waiting. Okay?”

“I'm worried I won't come home,” he said honestly. “I've died something like eight times. Eventually it's gonna stick. Who's to say this won't be the one?”

“Because,” I said firmly, “if you die, I will come and get you myself. Wherever you end up. Clear?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah, okay. Clear. Let's go figure out what the hell is going on in Montana.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After six hours of research, a visit from Charlie in which she had proclaimed herself “useless,” and about six cups of coffee, I had at least a vague idea of what was going on. Castiel had been absolutely no help, shrugging and saying, “I haven't heard anything. It must not even be on Heaven's radar,” then poofing.

“Okay,” I said, rolling out a map. “Here is Chinook, here is Lewistown, here is Fort Benton, and here is Zortman. They're all on cardinal points, or pretty close. Each of the cities is suffering from a plague or event described in Revelation as a sign of the end times, and that only seems to happen when -” I sighed, “- someone's trying to open a Hell Gate.”

“Crowley,” Sam and Dean said in unison.

“Hey, I don't know who it is, I just tell you what it means. So the exact center between these towns is a great big patch of zip. There are no roads, no trails, no nothing. Y'all are probably going to need some sort of ATV to even get there. There's a Nakota reservation about thirty-five miles from where you'll need to be, and I still have some contacts there from my first doctoral program who probably haven't heard about the whole murder charge thing. I'll see if I can get in touch with them and find you someplace to stay a little bit closer,” I said. “I'll go ahead and call now, so y'all can make your plans.”

I stepped out of the library and scrolled through my contacts, finally lighting on a name I hadn't even said in years. I dialed the number and waited. When a husky male voice answered, “Hello?” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is this Enapay?” I asked, hoping I still had the right number.

“Yes, it is,” the voice on the other end of the line said guardedly. “Who is this?”

“It's Kat,” I said, now hoping he remembered me.

There was a pause, then delighted laughter. “Kat! Haven't heard from you in a while! Did you get that doctorate?”

“Yeah, yeah I did,” I said with relief. “Listen, Enapay, I have a problem I'm hoping you can help me with.”

“Sure, anything! What do you need, Wasula?” I rolled my eyes. Enapay had given me that name during the three months I'd spent on the reservation. It translated roughly to “Hair Storm,” and was a reference to the frizzy nightmare my hair was in a Montana summer. 

I couldn't decide how much to tell him. “Enapay, have you heard about the – weird – things going on in the towns around the reservation?”

“I couldn't have missed them if I'd tried. What about it?”

“I've started working with these two guys,” I said slowly. “They're kind of – well – weird things are what they do. They're heading up there to look into it, and they need a place to stay that's as close as possible to the central point between the events. Are you still living in Hays?”

“Yeah, I am. I can put them up for a while, if you want.”

I blew out a huge breath. “Thank you so much, Enapay. You are a lifesaver.”

“Anything for little Wasula. So, these guys. Are they cute?” I could practically hear him waggling his eyebrows.

“Yes, they're gorgeous. They're brothers. Unfortunately for you, they are also both very straight.”

“Aw, Kat. You send gorgeous guys to me and they aren't even interested?”

I laughed. “You can flirt with the taller one all you like, Enapay, but the other one's mine.”

“Oooooh, Kat found herself a boyfriend!”

“Shut up,” I said, feeling myself turning red and really glad he was over a thousand miles away. “It's a new thing, all right?”

“Suuure,” he said. “But I can find a place to put them. When should I expect them?”

“Hold on just a second,” I said, then covered the speaker with my hand. “Boys! When are you expecting to hit Montana?”

“In about fourteen hours,” Sam called back. “Depends on how many traffic laws Dean breaks.”

I checked the clock. It was right about ten pm, so that would put them there about twelve pm tomorrow, but they'd be crossing a time zone, so... “They'll be there about eleven am tomorrow. Possibly a bit earlier, since the guy who's driving thinks speed limits only apply to other people.”

“Oh, they are in a hurry!” Enapay said. “All right, I'll unfold the sleeper sofa and dig out a cot. Are you coming with them, Wasula?”

I sighed. “I wish I could, Enapay. But what they do is dangerous, and I try not to do anything but research for them.” I absently rubbed at the scar on my neck from the vampire attack.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Well, I suppose I'll see your friends tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you again, Enapay,” I said.

“Sure thing. You have to promise to keep in touch, though!”

“I promise,” I laughed, and hung up.

I walked back into the library and flopped down in a chair. “Okay, boys. You'll be staying at 112 Zander St. in Hays with my friend Enapay. He's an enormous flirt, so I apologize in advance.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then sighed in unison. “Oh well,” Sam said. “Not the first time. Dean, you ready to go?”

“Gimme just a minute,” Dean said. He took my elbow and I looked up at him in surprise, but walked with him towards his bedroom. When we got there, he opened the door and pulled me inside, then pinned me to the wall by the door and kissed me so hard I couldn't breathe. When he finally pulled back, my eyes were glazed, my lips were swollen, and I was panting.

“Well,” I said after catching my breath, “I hope that inspired you to come back alive.”

The corners of his lips lifted into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, it did. Look, you be safe while I'm gone, okay? Hopefully it won't take more than a week.”

“Okay,” I agreed, then wound my arms around his neck and kissed him again. When we parted this time, it was his turn to have glazed eyes and a certain shortness of breath.

“Yeah,” he stated firmly. “Definitely coming back alive.” He grabbed his bag of hunting paraphernalia and walked out the door. I followed him into the garage, where I stole one last kiss before he and Sam got into the Impala and pulled away. I walked back down the stairs into the bunker feeling oddly bereft. They left all the time, and they always came back. This time wouldn't be any different. Right?

Despite my attempts to convince myself that I was fine, I was biting my lip to force back tears by the time I entered the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I managed to hold them down just long enough to shut the door behind me, then I threw myself down on my bed and sobbed. I really hadn't thought it would be this different. I had always cared about the boys, and always worried about them, but this time I was consumed by fear and terror.

I lost track of the time I spent adrift in my misery, but I jerked back to reality when there was a soft knock on the door. “Kat?” Charlie called through the wood. “Let me in.”

I got up and trudged to the door, opening it to reveal the redheaded hacker standing there with an armful of Ben & Jerry's, two spoons, and the recently released Doctor Who season nine DVD set. “Let's be terrified together,” she said, and plopped down on the couch. Patting the seat next to her with one hand, she waved a pint of Chocolate Therapy in my direction with the other.

Despite myself, I smiled slightly, shut the door, and sat down next to her. We watched Doctor Who until three am, when she convinced me to take some of my anti-anxiety medication and go to sleep.

I talked to Dean and Sam on the phone every other day or so, and after a week and a half, they finally admitted it was going to take longer than they had anticipated. Even I couldn't maintain a feeling of utter terror for that long, and eventually it turned into numb boredom. I talked Charlie into taking me to the local Wal-Mart – she could drive a stick shift, I couldn't, and the only vehicles in the garage were made before automatic transmissions were invented – where I bought groceries, toiletries, and a box of dark brown temporary hair dye with the credit card the guys had left for me to use. I'd dyed my hair before when I got bored, and it was an easy way to change things up and make myself feel better. Besides, at this rate, Dean wouldn't even be home before it washed out.

Of course, I got a call from the boys a week later that they had successfully killed whatever demon was trying to open the Hell Gate - “His name was Henry, man. I don't know. Never heard of him” - and were on their way home. I was so relieved they were okay, I completely forgot about my hair and the promise I'd made to Dean.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the guys got home, Charlie and I were sitting in the library on our computers. I was still working on that paper, while Charlie was doing something involving Planned Parenthood and Donald Trump's bank account that I was sure was incredibly illegal. When we heard the garage door open above our heads, we both sat bolt upright, looked at each other, then took off running for the staircase to the garage.

There was a brief scuffle at the narrow entrance to the stairs, which I won, and we burst into the garage just as the boys got out of the car. They were sweaty, covered in something brown which I strongly suspected was blood, and were clearly exhausted, but I didn't care. Charlie wisely went around the car to hug Sam, while I made a beeline for Dean and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Hi, kitten,” he chuckled. “Did you miss me?” I nodded against his chest. “I missed you too. Are you gonna let go of me so I can go change?” I shook my head and didn't move. “Well, we can't stay here forever. Also, you're getting demon blood on your shirt.”

I instantly released him and took two steps back. “Ew. Go. Shower. Change.” He headed for the stairs, pausing for a quick hug from Charlie before he descended into the bunker. I watched him go, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

“All he talked about was you,” Sam said quietly. I jumped; I hadn't heard him come up beside me.

I gave him a tight hug, then said, “Well, Charlie and I binge-watched TV and mainlined ice cream while you were gone, and she had to listen to me talk about him, so I guess it's only fair.”

Sam grinned. “Also, we got to hear loads of fun stories from Enapay. I particularly enjoyed the one about you climbing a tree to get away from an enormous spider -”

I winced. “- and the spider came up after me, and I fell out of the tree. Yeah. Not one of my more pleasant memories.”

“Also,” Sam said, tugging at a lock of my hair, “I think I'm going to start calling you Wasula too.”

“Don't you dare,” I said in mock anger.

Sam laughed. “By the way, I like the new color.”

“Shit!” I froze. “I totally forgot! Dean's going to kill me when he notices!”

Sam gave me an odd look, but I was too busy sprinting down the stairs and towards my bedroom to pay attention. 

I turned on the shower, stripped, and hopped in, grabbing the harsh shampoo I kept for the rare occasions I ended up with something foul in my hair. I washed my hair, washed it again, then washed it one more time before I got out of the shower. I dried it with a towel enough to tell that the color hadn't changed noticeably, and my shoulders slumped. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Just then, a knock came at my door. “Kat?” I heard Dean call. 

I wrapped myself in a towel, then walked slowly over to the door and opened it. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe he was one of those men whose knowledge of hair color ended with blonde, brunette, and redhead. Plus, it was still wet. It looked darker when it was wet anyway.

Dean stepped in and shut the door behind him, then scooped me up in his arms and carried me over to the bed. I squeaked in surprise as he dropped me on the mattress, quickly stripped, then crawled over me, a predatory look in his eyes. “Did you know,” he asked, kissing my jaw, “that I thought about you all the time? That Sam told me to shut up, he already knew how awesome you were? That I had to jerk off in the bathroom every night because I couldn't stop picturing you naked and spread out on the bed?” He jerked my towel away, then traced his eyes over every inch of my skin. “Just...like...this,” he said, punctuating each word with a nip to my neck.

I gasped and tilted my head back, baring my neck to his lips and teeth. Running my fingers through his short hair, still damp from his own shower, I pushed the hair color issue to the back of my mind and lost myself in his touch. “I,” I said breathily, “didn't touch myself at all. I haven't had an orgasm since you left.”

“Perfect,” he replied. “Then this will be fantastic.”

He kept biting and sucking at my neck, clearly reclaiming his territory, until he was satisfied with the number of marks he'd left and nibbled his way down to my chest. He lapped at my nipple until it was wet and hard, then gently blew across it. I shuddered as my skin pebbled with goosebumps and he laughed softly, then repeated the procedure on the other breast.

Before he could continue downwards, I laid my hand on his head and stopped him. “Dean,” I said firmly, “it's my turn.”

He pulled back. “Your turn for what?” he asked, puzzled.

I sat up, pushing him off me in the process, and got up. “Sit on the edge of the bed,” I directed, gesturing towards the side of the mattress.

He looked at me in confusion, but did as I said, sliding his way to the edge of the bed and putting his feet on the floor. “Now what?” he asked.

I walked over and sank to my knees in front of him. His eyes darkened as he realized what I planned to do, and I saw his breath catch. “Kat,” he said hoarsely, “you don't have to -”

“I want to, Dean,” I interrupted. “You aren't the only one that likes going down on people.” I licked at the head of his cock, tasting the salty precome that leaked from the slit, and I heard him hiss above me. His hands wound themselves into my hair, and without further ado, I leaned forward and swallowed him whole.

He gasped and said thickly, “Jesus Christ, don't you have a gag reflex?”

I hummed negatively around him, and he hissed again, his hands tightening in my hair. I began to bob up and down, keeping my teeth behind my lips carefully. It had been a long time since I'd done this, but I was still damn good at it, and the bitten off moans coming from above me testified to that. I swirled my tongue over the vein running along the bottom of the shaft, then pulled back and sucked only at the head, listening to Dean fall apart.

I slipped my hand up between his legs and began to fondle his balls, gently rolling them in my palm. He began to involuntarily give little thrusts into my mouth, and I heard him pant, “Kitten, I'm going to come if you don't stop that.”

Of course, that meant I only took him deeper and continued playing with his testicles, feeling his hands clench tighter and tighter in my hair until his hips bucked and he came with a drawn-out moan, his cock jerking against the roof of my mouth. I swallowed as best I could, working him through his climax, until he shuddered and was still. I pulled off him with an obscene pop, tasting the salty bitterness of his come on my tongue, and licked my lips. I'd forgotten how much I liked doing that.

When I looked up, Dean had fallen over backwards and was laying there with his arms spread and his eyes closed. I giggled and said, “Are you alive?”

“I dunno,” he said, eyes remaining closed. “That was a hell of a welcome home present.”

I laughed and crawled onto the bed, planting my hands on either side of his shoulders and my knees on either side of his hips. “I missed you,” I said, nibbling at his neck.

He opened one eye to squint at me. “I can see that,” he said. Then he wrapped his arms around me and rolled, putting me on my back on the bed with him looming over me. “I missed you too, kitten,” he whispered in my ear. “Want me to show you how much?”

Arousal shot through me and I moaned and nodded. He kissed his way down my neck, then laved his tongue over my nipple. I pushed my breast further into his mouth and grabbed the sheets beside me, trying not to squirm too much. While still lapping at my nipple, he slid two fingers into me, where I was already wet from anticipation and the blowjob I had just given. He slowly pumped them in and out and I whined, caught between his tongue on my breast and his fingers inside me.

Finally, he decided my nipples were hard enough and moved downwards, spreading my legs with his elbows and blowing gently across my clit. I shivered and gasped, fighting to keep my hips still and not push them into his face. When his tongue slipped gently over the bundle of nerves, I lost the fight and writhed under him, making him pin my hips to the bed with his free arm. I kept my arms at my sides, though, remembering that he didn't like me to touch him while he was playing with me.

He licked and sucked, clearly not planning on teasing this time, and kept me pinned to the bed as I tried to twist under that clever tongue. I felt the familiar coil of heat in my belly as he switched to circling my clit, and whimpered “Dean, please, God...” He kept going, keeping a firm pressure everywhere I needed it, and I finally exploded, falling off the edge into white-hot pleasure.

When I came down, he was lying next to me on his side with his head propped up on his hand and his jeans back on. “So,” he said, combing his fingers through my now mostly dry hair, “I'm glad to be home.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling up at him. “I'm glad you're home too.”

Suddenly, his expression darkened and he looked closely at the lock of hair in his hand. Then he wound his fingers into the hair at the back of my head and pulled me towards him, examining it intently. I winced and was about to object when I saw the look on his face.

“Katherine Elizabeth Whitaker,” he said, fury simmering just under the surface, “you dyed your hair.”

Shit.


	9. Fights, Showers, and Men Who Keep Interesting Things in Their Nightstands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Kat decided to get mad at Dean instead of letting him spank her, sorry. Upside: shower sex!

I jerked away from Dean, leaving several strands of hair still entwined in his fingers, jumped off the bed, and backed away. “Calm down,” I said.

“I am calm!” he shouted, getting up and stalking towards me. I kept backing up until I hit the wall, and he caged me in with his arms on either sides of his shoulders.

“Dean, please!” I said. “It's temporary! It'll wash out in three weeks!”

“I don't care,” he growled, wrapping his fingers lightly around my neck. “You said you wouldn't do anything to your hair, and then you did!” I swallowed hard, feeling my adam's apple press against his hand, and grabbed his wrist. Apparently his dominant tendencies weren't just for bed.

I had a decision to make, and it was going to shape the rest of any relationship we had. Was I going to let him punish me for dyeing my hair after he'd said not to? I knew that was what he had in mind; I also knew that he'd stop if I told him to. I didn't want to set a precedent for letting him control my life, but at the same time, I knew this was, for some reason, important to him. I was terrified that he'd leave, but I'd learned with Jon not to allow a romantic partner to dictate my actions. No. I couldn't let this happen.

I dropped my hands from his wrist to my sides and said quietly, “Dean, let me go. Now.” I stood there and stared at him, not blinking, until he dropped his hand from my throat. After a pause, he turned and walked out the door, shutting it with a soft click behind him.

I stared after him for a second, then collapsed to the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees. I started to cry, at first silently, then huge, wracking, heaving sobs as I buried my face in my arms. I knew I was overreacting, but it didn't seem to matter.

I didn't know how long I cried on the floor, but I was interrupted when Charlie pulled my head up from my arms with both hands. “What happened?” she asked softly. “Dean went stomping through the bunker to the firing range. He's been in there for two hours, tearing up targets like no tomorrow. Then I come in here and you're like this.”

I shook my head and buried my face back in my arms. I heard her sigh, then get up and leave. I kept sobbing, shaking in one of the worst crying fits I'd had in years.

Suddenly, I heard a soft voice say “Shit,” over by the door. “Charlie,” the voice said, “can you get some clothes on her?” A few moments later, someone was pulling a nightshirt over my head, then underwear over my hips, and I let them manipulate my limbs like a doll. Strong arms picked me up and laid me on the bed; I didn't fight them, just let whoever it was do whatever they wanted. “Get the bottle off her dresser marked Lorazepam,” the voice ordered, and I heard the rattling of pill bottles, then someone dragged me upright. “Kat,” the voice said, “I need you to open your eyes and take these.” I opened my eyes to see Sam sitting on the edge of the bed with two pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. I numbly swallowed the pills, then laid back down with my back to him.

I heard whispers, then the door opened and shut. Sam started rubbing my back in a familiar comforting motion, and I cried until the pills took effect and I fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was drifting in a warm pink haze when voices intruded.

“What the fuck -”

“- had to drug her to sleep -”

“Dammit, Dean, you know -”

“Shut up, Charlie -”

“- cried for two hours!”

“- you don't even know what -”

“- tell me, before -”

Then I floated away again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I opened my eyes, Sam was sitting in a chair by the bed with a copy of A Storm of Swords, probably reading about the gruesome death of some beloved character. I rolled onto my back, and he quickly set the book down.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Numb,” I replied honestly. “How long was I out?”

He checked his watch. “About eighteen hours.” Although it was not a record by any means, it was longer than I'd slept in months. I sighed, staring at the ceiling.

I heard Sam shift, then say, “Kat, Dean told us what happened.” I rolled over to look at him, and he smiled sadly. “Charlie and I laid into him. Now, I'm not going to pretend to know the dynamics of your relationship, such as it is. But as near as I can tell, you told him 'no' and he got pissed, which is usually considered unacceptable.”

I really didn't want to talk about this. I wanted Sam to just go away and let me be numb in peace. I returned to staring at the ceiling, and Sam sighed. “Kat. I'm not leaving until you give me your side of the story. We all live in a tiny little bunker, and you and Dean can't have a blowout like that and not expect questions.”

He fidgeted as he waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, he picked up his book again.

We must have stayed like that for hours, until I finally said, “He was pissed that I dyed my hair.”

Sam jerked in surprise at the sound of my voice, then quickly set the book down on my bedside table. “I think it might have been a little more complicated than that,” he said quietly.

“Sam, if I tell you the whole story, you may hear things about your brother you don't want to know,” I warned. “Like, sex things.”

He winced, then said, “Well, I already know about the spanking, so I guess I can deal. Go.”

I took a deep breath, and began. “Well, Dean likes to be – uh – dominant. He wants me to do what he says, say what he wants, etc. In the bedroom, that's fine. Great, even. But right before y'all left, he made me promise I wouldn't do anything to my hair, cut it or dye it or anything. He has a thing about my hair. Well, you were gone for three weeks, and I was bored. So I talked Charlie into taking me to Wal-Mart, and I bought a container of temporary hair dye. I've used it before, it washes out in about a month, and it's really not a big deal. It's not permanent, and it makes me feel better to change things up a little.”

I swallowed, and continued, “But Dean didn't see it like that. He was so angry. He pinned me up against a wall, and I know he was planning to punish me for doing something he'd told me not to do. But Sam, I can't let someone else control my actions again. In bed is one thing, but outside, in real life? I can't do it, I can't repeat the mistakes I made with Jon. So I told him to let me go. He did, and -” I was fighting back tears, “- he left. He didn't say anything, he just left. Then – well, you know what happened next.”

My comfortable numbness was long gone, and silent tears were streaming down my face. Sam stared at me for a moment, then did something completely unexpected.

He climbed onto the bed with me.

I froze for a second, but he stayed on top of the covers and pulled me against him. I cried into his chest as he held me, not the horrible wracking sobs of before, but softer, calmer tears. 

When I had finally cried myself out, he sat up and pulled me upright with him, still holding me. “Charlie's with Dean right now,” he said quietly. “He drank half a bottle of whiskey and passed out after our little discussion, and when he woke up, he was so upset with himself that he tried to buy you half a library of rare Native American artifacts. Charlie had to confiscate his laptop.”

In spite of myself, I smiled a little. Encouraged by this, Sam went on, “I don't know if you still want to pursue a relationship with him, but you two are going to have to talk this out at some point, if just to keep everyone in this building from going insane.”

I took a deep breath, then exhaled hard. “Okay. Let me do it now, before I psych myself out.”

Sam released me and I got up, searching through my dresser for a pair of sweats to put on under the nightshirt. When I got them on, Sam opened the door for me, and I reluctantly stepped out into the hallway.

When I got to Dean's door, I stopped for a second, gathering my courage. This was gonna be ugly.

I knocked softly on the door, and I heard Charlie call, “Come in.” I stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind me.

Dean was on his stomach on the bed, face buried in the pillows, still wearing the jeans he'd left my room in and nothing else. “Tell Sam to go away,” he mumbled, muffled by the pillows. “Or else to bring the whiskey back.”

“Dean,” Charlie said softly, “it's not Sam.”

He rolled over and sat bolt upright, and I was shocked at how bad he looked. The circles under his red-rimmed eyes were purple, and judging by his stubble, he hadn't shaved since he and Sam had gotten back from Montana.

“Kat,” he breathed, and got off the bed and started towards me. When he got within arms' length, he was greeted by a stinging slap.

He put his hand to his cheek in shock, and I hissed, “How dare you?” I heard the door click shut behind me, and assumed Charlie had left rather than witness what promised to be another spectacular fight.

Dean opened his mouth to answer me, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No. You listen to me. Tying me up in the bedroom? Great. Ordering me around during sex? Fine. But trying to control what I do to my body, with my time? Absolutely unacceptable. And then you left. You seem to have this habit of walking out of a room whenever you might have to discuss something you don't want to!” By the end of this little speech, I was yelling.

“I left because I was afraid I would hurt you!” he shouted back. “I was so angry I wasn't sure I could stay and not punish you, whether you liked it or not! You promised me you wouldn't mess with your hair, and then you did! What about the other promises you made? The ones where you said you would stay safe? Are you going to ignore those, too?”

I stopped in the middle of opening my mouth to retort, instead closing it thoughtfully. There was a pattern here; Dean tended to get angry over little things when he was really frightened about big things. He'd spanked me ostensibly because of the Impala, but really because he was worried about the changes in me. Now he was angry about my hair, but only because he was scared I'd break other, more important promises.

When I didn't respond, some of the anger seemed to drain out of Dean, and he stepped towards me. “Kat,” he said softly, pushing a lock of hair out of my face, “I care about you. A lot. It might kill me if something happened to you. I can't stand -” he swallowed hard “- I can't stand to think about you getting hurt.”

I stood completely still for a moment, then surged towards him and slid my arms around his waist. “I'm sorry, Dean,” I whispered against his chest. “I don't mean to frighten you, I really don't.”

He started in surprise, then wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head. We stood like that for what felt like an eternity, but eventually I pulled away. “Dean, I need you to understand something,” I said softly. “Every time you and Sam leave this bunker for a case, I'm terrified. I'm terrified you won't come home, or you'll come home in pieces, or you'll come home with black eyes or vampire fangs. You aren't the only one who's scared, okay? But I don't take it out on you.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but he stopped and blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

I stepped back and smiled at him. “Now, why don't you go shower and shave? You look like hell.”

“Sweetheart, you don't look much better,” he said, looking me up and down. Then a small smile curled across his lips. “Why don't we shower together?”

I couldn't really see any reason not to. “Okay,” I agreed. “Let me go get clean clothes.” I darted back down the hallway to my room, pulling fresh underwear, a clean bra (damn, I needed new bras), a blue maxi skirt, and a white tank top out of my dresser. After a moment of thought, I also grabbed my shampoo and body wash out of the bathroom, having a feeling that Dean was a bar-of-soap-and-99-cent-shampoo kind of guy.

By the time I made it back to Dean's room, he had already stripped and was in the shower, which I was totally jealous of. It was freaking enormous, easily big enough for two people, and I thought about my shower/tub combo and sighed. I hadn't even thought to check and see if the bathrooms were different when I'd picked out my room. I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, enjoying the sight of water running down his hard body, until Dean turned and saw me. “Quit ogling me,” he said, laughing, “and take your clothes off!”

I grinned back and stripped off my nightshirt and sweats, grimacing at the feel of cool air against my tacky skin. When I stepped into the shower, Dean obligingly moved to the side so I could get under the spray. I sighed as the warm water ran over me, tilting my head back and letting my hair get wet as well.

When I brought my head back up, I met Dean's reverent eyes. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “You look like a piece of art.”

I blushed, ducking my head to hide my face. “Hey, no,” he said, lifting my chin. “You're beautiful. How many times will I have to say it before you believe me?”

“At least one more time,” I said, twining my arms around his neck. He bent down and kissed me, hesitantly at first, but bolder as I offered no resistance. When he pulled away from the kiss, he began peppering my neck and shoulders with light kisses as well, punctuating each one with “You. Are. Beautiful.”

When he tried to sink to his knees to continue kissing down my body, I held onto him and refused to let go. “Dean,” I said laughingly, “we do need to actually shower, you know.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, then gave me a heart-breakingly beautiful smile. I felt my heart skip a beat, but refused to analyze that feeling too deeply. After all, he was squeezing body wash onto a washcloth, and I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next.

He started to reach towards me with the cloth, then stopped abruptly. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, sniffing the washcloth. “Is this what makes you smell so good?”

The sheer incongruity of the question made me double over in laughter. “Yes, Dean,” I said between giggles, “that and my shampoo. It's a girl thing.”

He grinned and continued his aborted movement, beginning to wash my shoulders and chest. He paid particular attention to my breasts, making me gasp and shudder as he moved the cloth gently over my nipples. He continued downwards, rubbing the cloth over my stomach, then knelt on the tile floor of the shower. “Put your foot on my knee,” he said softly, and I obeyed. He caressed the foot, then moved up my leg, massaging each inch of flesh with the soapy cloth. When he put that foot back on the floor, I placed the other one on his knee without having to be told, and he repeated the process.

He stood up and reached around me, washing my back, then slid the cloth between my legs. I inhaled sharply at the touch of the rough terrycloth on my sensitive skin, and he washed me thoroughly, until my knees were trembling and I was panting. He dropped the washcloth on the side of the tub, but before I could complain one strong arm was around my waist, holding me against his chest, and the fingers of the other hand were on my clit.

He manipulated the sensitive nub expertly, applying just the right amount of pressure. The only sound was the water falling on the tile and my soft, panting breaths as I chased my climax. When I finally found it, I shuddered silently against him, eyes closing and knees buckling completely so that his arm around my waist was the only thing holding me up.

I opened my eyes as the aftershocks faded, meeting his brilliant green ones. “Hi there,” he whispered, bending down to kiss me. I passively accepted it, still lost in the afterglow of my orgasm.

When I finally found my legs again, he let me go and stepped away. He handed me the bottle of shampoo and gestured at my hair, saying, “I don't wanna try and wash that. I'd probably tangle it up so bad you'd never be able to get it brushed again.”

I looked at him, confused. He was clearly aroused. Didn't he want me to touch him? I put the bottle down and stepped towards him, but he took another step back, hands held up in front of him. “No, that was for you,” he said quietly. “No reciprocation necessary.”

I was starting to get irritated and a little upset. “Dean, I touch you because I enjoy it, not out of some sense of obligation. But, I mean, if you don't want to get off...”

I massaged the shampoo into my scalp and hair, deliberately arching my back provocatively. When I stepped under the spray to rinse, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, baring my throat. I heard Dean moan, and then just as the last of the suds slipped out of my hair, he was pressed up against my front and biting at my neck and shoulders.

“What happened to – ow! - no reciprocation necessary?” I teased.

“Changed my mind,” he growled, then took my hand and wrapped it around his cock.

I jerked him off slow and easy, enjoying being able to see his face as he closed his eyes and his mouth dropped open with pleasure. When he started thrusting into my fist, I knew he was close, and I sped up, twisting my grip at the head of his cock in a way I was pretty sure he'd like.

Apparently I was right, since he groaned and came a moment later, white spurts landing on my hip and stomach. He wobbled, then put out an arm to lean against the wall.

When he opened his eyes, I was licking his come off my hand, and his eyes widened. “Jesus, Kat,” he gasped. I grinned smugly at him.

“Your turn,” I said, gesturing towards his hair. It looked like I had been wrong; there was only one bottle on the side of the tub that was his, and it was a combination body wash and shampoo. Well, that was convenient.

I picked up the bottle and squeezed some onto a clean washcloth, then reached for him. He backed away again, this time laughing. “No, if you do that, we won't get out of this shower for another hour.”

I weighed the options in my head. Well, I was hungry. I hadn't eaten in thirty-six hours. On the other hand, there was a wet naked man about eighteen inches from me.

After some deliberation, hunger won out, and I sighed regretfully and handed him the cloth. “Okay,” I said, “but I'm getting out and removing the temptation.”

Now it was his turn to sigh regretfully, but he took the cloth and began to soap up as I stepped out of the shower. I looked around, then grabbed a towel from what I really hoped was the 'clean' pile in the corner of the bathroom.

After drying off and squeezing the excess water out of my hair, I wandered into his bedroom in search of my clothes. I put on my bra and underwear, then sneaked a look back into the bathroom. It looked like he'd just started shampooing his hair, and he still had to shave. Excellent. My turn to snoop.

I sat down on his bed and opened the drawers of his bedside table, finding the expected – condoms, back issues of “Busty Asian Beauties,” etc – then frowned when I came upon a large black box in the back of the bottom drawer. I fished it out and opened it, and my mouth dropped open when I saw what was inside.

“Do you like what you see?” a husky voice asked from the door of the bathroom, and I looked up guiltily to see Dean leaning against the doorframe with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, smiling smugly at me. He nodded back towards the box. “No, don't let me interrupt you.”

I looked back down at the contents of the box, then slowly drew out two pairs of leather cuffs, one slightly larger than the other. Wrist and ankle? Below the cuffs were a selection of gags and blindfolds in different sizes and shapes, some familiar, some not. The next layer was nipple clamps and anal plugs; I swallowed hard, then set them to the side. Then, at the very bottom of the box, lay a black leather riding crop and a leather flogger. I bit my lip and dragged my fingertips over the leather, imagining Dean punishing me with them. Then a sudden thought hit me.

“Wait,” I said, looking up at him. “Have you just been hauling this around in the Impala for ten years?”

He looked a bit astonished, then laughed. “Trust you to think of the logistics! No, I got it all when we moved into the bunker. I've never had a woman in here, though.” He looked at me, then amended, “One that would enjoy all of that, at least.”

I bit my lip again, then looked up at him shyly. “I think – if you built up to it – I'd enjoy most of it,” I said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

He looked at me in amazement. “Really?” he asked incredulously. I blushed and looked down, nodding.

Just then, my stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension in the room. Dean laughed out loud and grabbed my wrist, dragging me off the bed. When I tried to pull free and replace the items in the box, he wouldn't let me, saying “Leave those out. Maybe we'll find a use for them later,” then winked.

I blushed again, then said, “Dean, we have to get dressed before we can go anywhere.” He looked at me in my underwear, then down at himself, still wearing only a towel.

“Damn, I guess you're right,” he sighed, and we both dressed quickly and headed out the door.

When we emerged into the main room, Charlie and Sam were sitting at the War Table eating Chinese food. I immediately dashed over to the table and pounced on the food, digging out an eggroll and a container of sesame chicken. I plopped down into a chair and tore into the eggroll, ignoring Charlie's raised eyebrow and Sam's expectant look, as well as Dean's affectionate glare as he walked more sedately to the table by himself and sat down next to me.

I had finished the eggroll and was opening the sesame chicken when Charlie's patience gave out. “Well?” she said. “Everything worked out? Makeup sex had? Everybody good?”

Sam choked on his sweet and sour shrimp, Dean inhaled a gulp of soda and started coughing, and I just laughed. “Yes, Charlie, everything is fine,” I said, looking around for a pair of chopsticks or a fork.

“Well, details!” she urged, and Sam choked again.

Once he'd managed to swallow, Sam said hastily, “No details! No details, please!”

Dean chimed in, “Do NOT discuss my sex life for Charlie's kicks!”

I looked at them in pretended shock. “Of course I wasn't going to give details! A lady doesn't kiss and tell!” When they looked back down at their food, I mouthed to Charlie, “Later.” She winked at me and returned to her chow mein.

I finally located a plastic fork under a pile of napkins and dug into the sesame chicken, reveling in the food after not eating for close to thirty-six hours. Admittedly, I'd been either asleep or sick with anxiety for most of that time, but still.

I was almost done with the chicken when an unexpected wave of exhaustion washed over me. I could barely keep my eyes open, and with the last of my energy I pushed the food away before my head hit the table. I dimly heard Sam say, “Do you want me to -” before Dean interrupted.

“No, I got this,” he said, and I felt an arm around my shoulders and one under my knees, lifting me from the chair. I laid my head against his chest and drifted away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I woke up, I was in Dean's room, and he was propped up on his elbow staring at me. “You can fall asleep in the weirdest places,” he muttered, shaking his head. I smiled sleepily and cuddled up to him, enjoying the warmth of him at my back; he sighed and dropped down to the mattress, throwing his other arm over my waist. “How do you even do that?” he wondered aloud.

“Practice,” I said, and yawned. “That's not actually the first time I've fallen asleep at the table. Not even the first time in the past five years. How long was I out?” I was getting really tired of asking that question, but it felt like about two hours.

“About two hours,” Dean confirmed.

I rolled over so I could see him. “Have you just been lying here looking at me for all that time?”

He looked a little bit surprised. “Ah, not the whole time, no.” He looked vaguely ashamed. “I had to get up and pee once.”

I shook my head. I mean, I could see Sam doing that to someone, and I'd definitely do it, but Dean? It smacked of feelings deeper than simple affection.

I shoved that thought away and sighed in contentment as I felt him start combing his fingers through my hair, carefully working out any tangles he encountered. I rolled back over, presenting him with my back and my whole head of hair. “At the risk of making you upset again,” he whispered in my ear, “I really don't like this color.”

I laughed softly. “That's okay. I don't like it either.”

“Then why did you dye it?” he asked curiously.

I shrugged my shoulders as best I could. “I was bored, and it distracted me.”

I could feel him shake his head. “You being bored is a dangerous thing,” he mused.

“It took you eight months of living with me to figure that out?” I teased.

“Well, no,” he admitted. “I figured that out when we came back from a case in December and there was an army of rubber snakes in Sam's bed.”

I smiled wistfully at the memory. “Yeah, I'd named them all, too. They had specific positions and responsibilities in that little snake army.”

“Seriously?” he asked disbelievingly.

I giggled. “Yeah, seriously. The first one Sam saw was Corporal Hisserton, who was the leader of the advance force, followed by Specialists Fanger, Rattleson, and Pythonell.”

There was a long silence behind me, then Dean said slowly, “I sometimes wonder if you're wasted on this.”

I frowned and turned over to look at him. “Wasted on what?”

He gestured vaguely. “This. Researching for me and Sam, being cooped up in here, not being able to do what you want to with academics.”

I sighed. I'd wondered that too. At the beginning of my time in the bunker, I'd even done some research to see if there was anyone else more suitable to do this. But, after a few weeks, I was forced to admit defeat. There were certainly scholars just as qualified (but no one better qualified, which made me feel warm and fuzzy inside), but there would be a hue and cry raised if they disappeared with no trace. The ones who would be able to get away from their responsibilities wouldn't be able to help Sam and Dean nearly as well as I could, due either to specialty or academic abilities, and I wasn't willing to leave the boys to someone less capable that I was. Not to mention, there was that whole thing about monsters being real that might throw someone off their research game. If I hadn't already had a brush with the supernatural in the form of Robert the skinwalker, I'd probably have never believe Sam and Dean about the vampire and everything that came after.

I snapped out of my reverie when Dean lifted my chin. “Hey, I can see that big brain working in there,” he teased. “Whatcha thinking?”

“I don't know if I ever told you this, but back when you and Sam first brought me here, I tried to find someone else to do your research,” I said softly. “I figured I'd be able to set up a new life somewhere, maybe in Europe if I had to. But then I started looking, and I hit a brick wall. The people who could do it as well as I could wouldn't have been able to disappear, and everyone else – well. I wasn't leaving you to someone poorly qualified.” I took a deep breath. “I resented you and Sam for months for ruining my life, for bringing me here, for making me into your pet researcher. But after the time that guy tried to take over the world -”

“Which one?” Dean interrupted.

I smiled slightly. Only with the Winchesters. “The one in January. The one with all the zombies? Yeah. Anyway, I realized that, while technically you and Sam had saved the world, I was the one who had provided the information you had to have to do it. Dean, that's the definition of a librarian. We provide information to those who need it. So yeah, my intellect might be wasted on this, but it's a job I'm trained and qualified for, and no one else can do it.” Then I gave him a full on shit-eating grin. “Plus, you and Sam wander around without your shirts on a LOT. I might've stayed just for that.”

Dean playfully smacked my shoulder. “Don't objectify me,” he said with a grin. I smiled back sleepily and pressed back up against him, letting him wrap his arms around me as I dozed off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was rewatching a couple of old episodes today and realized that I seem to have taken some liberties with the layout of the bunker. I'm pretty sure they have a big communal bathroom/shower type arrangement, and that would have thrown some kinks in my whole shower sex thing. Sooo....let's pretend they have private bathrooms, k?


	10. Shopping, Manipulation, and Poor, Put-Upon Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter, 'cause there's an important plot development in the next one!

When I woke up this time, Dean was asleep next to me, his arm still draped over my waist. Who would've thought he was such a cuddler? 

I fidgeted for a few minutes, conflicted between enjoying the closeness and getting up to go to the bathroom, but eventually my bladder won out and I carefully slipped out from under his arm. As I turned to head towards the bathroom, I heard a soft grunt and turned around. 

Dean had rolled over in his sleep and was patting the bed where I had been. Even with his eyes closed, I could still see the displeasure on his face. _Oh my God, that is adorable._

Once I finished in the bathroom, I didn't know what to do next. I couldn't even think about lying back down; I'd slept more in the past two days than any time since before Cas fixed my brain. I was in Dean's room, so it wasn't like there was much reading material on offer, and I didn't want to wake him up by turning on the television.

I finally tiptoed out of the room and shut the door silently behind me. I had no idea what time it was, where Sam, Charlie, or Cas were, and quite frankly, I was bored. I could go cook, I guess, since I hadn't done that in a while, or go work on that freaking paper that was never going to get finished at this rate, but...I just wasn't feeling like being productive.

I went by my room and grabbed my phone, absently noting that it was 2:13 a.m., and walked aimlessly around the bunker until I found myself in the library. Sighing, I threw myself down in one of the chairs and stared blankly into space. _So. Bored._ I was well aware that no one else would be up for, at the least, five more hours. I briefly considered reorganizing the library by Dewey Decimal number instead of Library of Congress number, just to mess with the boys. It would be a fairly simple matter to get the computer system to switch all the records over, and the only reason it had taken me so long to organize the library the first time round was because I had had to enter all the manuscript information into the system manually. I thought about it some more, then decided against it. They probably wouldn't even notice. Well, Sam might, but Dean definitely wouldn't.

So. _What to do, what to do._ It's difficult to booby-trap someone's room when they're in it, regardless of how deeply they sleep, and I wasn't touching the Impala again. Not only did I vividly remember the spanking I had received, I refused on principle to repeat any of my pranks. Then, with a flash of inspiration, I finally figured out what I really wanted to do.

I wanted to go shopping.

Not online shopping, where you eyeball a color on a monitor and wonder if this store's large is bigger or smaller that that store's. No, I wanted to go shopping properly, going to a mall and spending half an hour in every dressing room and leaving with like fifteen shopping bags. Plus, I really needed new bras. It's hard to buy a bra without trying it on, especially if – I looked down at my chest in exasperation – you wore a 34F. Not to mention, I'd escaped my home with only about ten outfits, most of them leaning towards winter wear. The tank tops I'd been wearing were meant to be layering pieces, and the skirts were repurposed winter clothes.

Well, that wasn't happening at 3 in the morning, so I'd better figure out something else to do until Dean woke up and I could convince him to take me shopping. I finally decided to do something I'd never done before; I headed downstairs to the range. I bet the boys had left a spare handgun and ammo down there at some point, and I was sure I could find some earplugs somewhere.

I was right, and I destroyed two targets before I remembered how to shoot a damn pistol. I was much better with rifles than handguns, since there wasn't much call for them during deer-hunting season and that's when I'd learned to shoot. I knew that I could easily get drawn into shooting practice, so I set a vibrating alarm on my phone for 7 am to remind me to go upstairs and get back in bed with Dean, then shoved it in my bra.

I had successfully clustered six shots in the chest zone of my umpteenth target and was now killing him with headshots when I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. I whirled, automatically keeping the gun pointed at the floor, and saw Dean smiling at me. I pulled the earplugs out and then fished around in my bra for my phone, pulling it out and seeing that it was 6:37.

“You're up early,” I said, putting the gun, earplugs, and phone down.

“I woke up and you were gone,” he said, giving me those sad eyes.

“Yeah, I couldn't sleep,” I said. “You know, slept like 26 hours out of 48 and all that.”

He frowned and looked around. “So you came down here? Kat, you shouldn't shoot without Sam or me. You don't know how to handle a gun, and -” I rolled my eyes and pulled the target towards us. Hadn't he noticed that I had decent form as he was approaching me?

Dean stopped mid sentence and gaped at the clusters. They weren't perfect, but I'd definitely killed the target very dead. 

“You were saying?” I said smugly.

He just shook his head and wrapped his arms around me. “How is it,” he said into my hair, “that I've been living with you for nine months and am still finding out about random shit you can do?”

I pulled away from him. “I'm a woman of mystery,” I said, attempting to strike a glamorous pose.

I must have failed miserably, because he laughed and gathered me back into his arms. “You certainly are,” he said softly. “Let's go back to bed.” He scooped me up and walked out of the firing range, leaving the gun, ammo, earplugs, and phone where I'd left them.

He carried me through the open door of his bedroom, bridal style, and kicked it shut behind us. I felt ridiculous, being carried like that when awake and not injured, but he seemed to like it so I let him do it.

He deposited me on my back on the mattress, then stood there, looking at me. After a moment, I started to feel uncomfortable. “What?” I said.

He shook his head as if to clear it, then said, “Nothing.” He pulled his t-shirt off over his head and I was done asking questions, preferring to run my eyes over every inch of golden skin as it presented itself. He slipped out of his jeans and boxers as well, then crawled on the mattress on top of me; I relaxed under the familiar weight and leaned up to kiss him.

We kissed lazily for a while, me enjoying the feeling of his back muscles flexing as I ran my hands over them, him sliding his hands under the hem of my shirt and caressing my stomach and hips. Before long, though, he started to get impatient and pulled upwards on the hem of my shirt, trying to get it over my head. I obligingly raised my arms and let him pull it off, luxuriating in the feel of skin against skin. He slid one hand behind my back and unfastened my bra, then tossed it and the tank top off the side of the bed.

I expected him to pull my skirt down next, but instead he slid his hand up my leg to the crotch of my underwear. I gasped as I felt him rub two fingers down the outside of the lace, sending a satisfied smile across his face. “Have I told you,” he said, “how much I love it when you wear skirts?”

“Um, no,” I said, trying to focus on words when his fingers were driving me crazy with their light touches. “Why is – _ah_ – that?”

“Easy access,” he grinned, then slipped his fingers into my underwear and I was no longer capable of processing the English language.

Those two fingers rubbed and swirled over my entrance, never dipping in, never touching my clit, until it was my turn to get impatient. “Dean,” I gasped, “please get the rest of these clothes off me.”

“With pleasure,” he replied, and removed his fingers, only to hook them into the elastic waistband of my underwear and slowly pull them down, inch by infuriating inch. I laid still though, determined that this time he wouldn't have me begging and pleading for him to touch me.

He tossed the lacy garment off the bed to join the rest of our clothes, then began pulling my skirt down as well. “I also like it when you wear these things with elastic waists,” he said conversationally. “It makes them so much easier to get off than things with buttons and hooks and zippers.”

“Well, I'm glad you're pleased with my wardrobe selection,” I responded, somehow managing to keep my voice steady as he slipped the skirt over my feet and threw it on the floor. One day, I was going to have to break him of that habit, but when I felt his fingers on my sex again, I knew that day was not today.

Despite myself, I moved my hips against his hand, wordlessly pleading for him to just do something already. Instead, he removed his fingers – _asshole_ – and nibbled his way up my body, stopping at my breast to lave his tongue over my nipple. I tried my best not to arch into his mouth, but he was biting at the peak softly, then licking the sting away, and it felt so good I couldn't help it. When I finally let loose a bitten off moan and arched my back, just a little, I felt him smile against my skin. Yeah, he knew what game we were playing, but I was determined that he wasn't winning. Not this time.

He switched to the other breast, repeating the process until both nipples were the same hardness and the same shade of dark pink. He then worked his way up to my neck, alternating soft kisses with sharp nips until I was panting, dying for him to touch me where I needed it most. But instead of begging him to do so, I wrapped my arms and legs around him and rolled, the same move he'd pulled on me the other day.

I knew he was letting me do it, but over we went, until I was sitting on his stomach and he was spread out beneath me. “My turn,” I breathed, and leaned down to lick at the pulse point just below his ear. I tormented him just as he tormented me, licking and nibbling at his nipples, kissing his neck, and placing soft bites all over his chest and shoulders. 

When I finally trailed two fingers over the head of his rock-hard cock, I could see his whole body tense in an effort not to thrust up into the touch. I smiled and repeated the motion, this time eliciting a bitten-off moan and a slight twitch of his hips. I continued trailing my fingers over his cock, never really touching, just teasing, until the moans were no longer bitten off and his hips were gently moving. His hands were fisted in the bedsheets and his head was thrown back, eyes closed, the long line of his neck exposed.

I shifted slightly and sank down on him with no warning at all, making his eyes spring open and a guttural, feral noise come out of his mouth. But instead of moving up and down, I simply rocked, rubbing my clit against his pelvic bone, working myself up towards climax. He tried to thrust up into me, to make me move, but I put my full body weight on his hips and pinned him down. I knew that if I let him get too frustrated, he'd take back control, so I started gently rising and falling, no more than an inch or two at a time.

When he started whining – whining! - in the back of his throat, I decided I was close enough to orgasm that I could probably come if I rode him properly. So I started rising high and falling more quickly, making sure to rub my clit against his pubic bone, and watched him fall apart beneath me. When he arched his back, sweat beading on his temples, eyes squeezed shut, I caught my breath at the visual and my climax ripped through me. I shuddered and leaned forward, resting my hands on Dean's chest, feeling myself contract around his cock as I rode the wave of pleasure. 

When I came down, Dean's hands were on my hips. “As much as I love the view from down here, kitten,” he said tightly, “I need you to move or I will flip you over and fuck you through the headboard.” I started to move again, faster and shallower this time, never letting the head of his cock slip out of me. After a few thrusts, I began deliberately clenching my internal walls as each time I slid down, watching him throw his head back again and pant as he reached for his climax. Just as I was pretty sure he was about to come, I leaned backwards and changed the angle so that he was even deeper inside me. A few thrusts later, he pushed up into me hard, once, twice, then sank back down onto the mattress. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, and I tightened my walls one last time to milk the last of his orgasm from him. He groaned and twitched at that, then went completely boneless.

I gave a soft laugh and climbed off him, his spent cock slipping out of me. I popped into the bathroom and grabbed a wet cloth, then cleaned us both up, giggling softly at Dean's flinch and hiss when I touched his oversensitive flesh with the washcloth. I flung it on the floor with the rest of our things and climbed back into bed with him, nestling against his side.

“Holy shit, kitten,” he gasped. “I still haven't caught my breath.”

I traced a finger over the lines of his abs. “So it was good then?” I asked shyly.

He raised up his head, looked at me, then thumped it back down. “Good? It was fucking awesome.”

“Fantastic,” I said softly. I hesitated, then said, “Dean? Can I ask you to do something?”

“Sure,” he said, his forearm now flung over his eyes. “I'll do whatever you want right now, sweetheart.”

“Will you take me shopping? 

He froze for a second, the arm over his eyes tensing, then groaned deeply.

“I walked right into that one, didn't I?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Of course, the kind of shopping trip I wanted took some planning. The boys usually got their clothes at thrift shops, in whatever town they happened to be in at the time, and Dean in particular was incredibly confused by my insistence on going someplace with more than three stores. Not to mention that a decent lingerie store was a must. Department stores and Victoria's Secret were not going to cut it.

I finally had to enlist Charlie to pretend to go behind my back and talk to Dean about it. Apparently, she explained very matter-of-factly the process of buying a bra, including sizing, material, shape, and fit, until he was completely baffled. Then she casually pointed out that she'd had her hands on my breasts, and they were larger than what could easily be fitted in most stores. According to her, this was the point when Dean cried, “I'll take her wherever she wants! Just go! Out! Go!” 

I did some research, and what I found made me miss the East Coast. The nearest mall with any kind of decent shopping was almost two hours away. Even in that little tiny town in North Carolina where we'd stayed to find Lizzie, the nearest shopping center was only 60 miles from us. I hadn't quite realized how isolated the bunker was until I pulled up Lebanon, KS on Google and realized it was surrounded by nothing. Like, NOTHING. I mean, I got the whole “geographic center of the lower 48 states” thing, both from a magical and a mundane standpoint, but...come on. There were two stores in town, and one of them was a grocery store. Even Men of Letters had to have shoes, right?

Regardless, I decided we were headed to Grand Island, NE. There was what looked like an adequate mall there, along with a couple of independent lingerie stores that looked promising.

The next problem was money. While I had quite a bit of money tucked away in personal accounts, I couldn't access them for fear of alerting the authorities to our location. Just as I was about to worry that I was going to have to rely on the boys and their credit card scams, I remembered Charlie's little exercise with Donald Trump's bank account and Planned Parenthood. I asked her if there was any way she could move money from my old personal accounts to a new one, one that matched my fake ID, without it being traceable. She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “In about ten minutes, Kat. Don't know why you didn't ask before.”

It took about three weeks for the entire trip to come together, and I was terrified the whole time that it would fall through. The day the debit card with the name “Tamara Davis” on it came in the mail, though, I decided I was getting to a damn shopping center if I had to walk. When the boys ended up having to leave on a case, I sulked until they got back, just knowing that they would somehow end up being gone for a month. I knew I was being horribly stereotypical, but at a certain point, one can no longer wear the same ten outfits over and over again. Well, maybe the Winchesters could, but Charlie and I agreed – no way.

Two days before we left, I belatedly realized I hadn't asked Charlie if she wanted to come along. When I inquired, she laughed and said, “I hate shopping. I much prefer to get my clothes online, and since I don't have the delicious curves you do, I don't have to worry about fit as much. Not to mention, you and Dean are probably going to get it on in some dressing room, and I don't want to be the one trying to explain it to mall security.” I blushed and scurried out of the room, really hoping that didn't happen.

The morning I'd decided we were going to leave (Dean had thrown his hands up at my strict planning of the excursion days ago. Sam thought it was funny), I jumped out of bed at 6 am, way too excited to sleep. Since I was sleeping in the same bed as Dean, and had been since the day he'd agreed to take me shopping, that meant he buried his head in the pillow and groaned. 

“Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up!” I cried, getting back on the bed and bouncing.

He slowly turned his head so that one eye emerged from the pillow and glared at me. “I only get up this early in the morning when I'm on a case,” he growled.

I hopped off the bed and stood there, hands on my hips. “Dean Winchester, I am going to shower and get dressed, then go make breakfast. If you are not in the kitchen by the time I finish cooking, I swear to God I will find some spell, summon a demon, and set him loose. Then you'll have a case.”

He lifted his head out of the pillow completely and turned the evil eye up a notch. “What happened to the Kat who threw a fit if I woke her up at 8 am?” he complained.

Completely unfazed by his sad attempt at a glare (I'm sure it scared monsters, but I was a librarian. Please), I turned and marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. 

When I got out of the shower, he'd rolled over onto his back and had his forearm over his eyes. Fine. I got dressed quickly, and then actually put on my glasses. I never wore them when I was just in the bunker, since my vision was only bad at a distance and there weren't many rooms in the bunker big enough to test my eyesight.

I was pretty sure he had fallen back asleep, and that whatever I made was probably going to have to be reheated, so I decided on chocolate chip pancakes. It would make him happy after whatever I did to wake him up, I liked them okay, and they could be microwaved easily.

Sure enough, when I finished the pancakes, he hadn't made an appearance. I checked my phone; it was about 7 am, and I wanted to get to the mall at 9, right as the stores opened. He needed to get up and come eat.

I headed back to the bedroom, and as I had thought, Dean was fast asleep. He'd rolled over on his back and his face had that soft, carefree look he lost as soon as he came back to awareness. I slunk onto the bed and stealthily pulled the covers off him, praying he didn't wake up and think I was trying to kill him. Fortunately, he just shifted, settling one arm above his head and one at his side.

I slid carefully down the bed and began to lick at his cock, teasing it into full hardness. He moaned in his sleep and shifted again, arching his back slightly and clutching at the pillowcase above his head. I sucked lightly on just the head, then slowly worked my way down until his entire cock was in my mouth.

I began a slow rhythm up and down, enjoying the sensation of his cock sliding over my tongue. When his hand moved from his side to the top of my head, I knew he was awake, but I grabbed his wrist and firmly placed it back at his side. He moaned and left it there, beginning to make short, aborted thrusts into my mouth. I slipped my hand up and ran my index finger along the indention in the middle of his scrotum, and he gasped. I felt him tense, ready to come, and pulled off of him.

I quickly replaced my mouth with my hand, keeping a loose grip on his cock, never exerting enough pressure to let him reach climax. He groaned and thrust into my hand, obviously dying for friction, but my hand continued its slow, loose slide.

When I judged that he had come down enough I could risk it, I ducked my head and swallowed his cock again, tasting the salty precome that had gathered at the tip. I licked and sucked, continuing to caress his balls, until I felt them tighten up against his body.

I immediately pulled off again, but before I could put my hand on him, he grabbed my wrist. “Dammit, kitten, finish it,” he growled.

I sat back on my heels. “Are you going to get up, get dressed, and come eat breakfast?” I inquired pointedly.

His eyes flew open and he glared at me. “Really?” he hissed.

I swallowed hard at the promise of revenge in his voice, but replied, “Yes. Really.”

He groaned and thumped his head down into the pillows. “Yeah, I will. But you'd better make it really fucking good.”

He released my wrist and I swallowed him whole, feeling the head of his cock press against the back of my throat. I bobbed up and down quickly, keeping the suction tight and my tongue swirling along his shaft, until he thrust up into my mouth with a deep moan. I swallowed the come he shot down my throat, waiting until he was done before I pulled off and wiped my mouth. 

I started to climb off the bed, but a hard hand wrapped around my wrist before my feet hit the floor. “Where do you think you're going?” he asked, his voice thick.

I jerked against his grip, but he didn't let go. “I'm going to the kitchen to reheat our breakfast while you get dressed,” I said, irritated.

He yanked me across the bed and on top of him. “No, I really don't think you are,” he said with a threatening undertone.

Nope. No more sex games until I got my damn shopping trip. I jerked away again, this time surprising him enough that his grip on my wrist slipped and I jumped off the bed. “No,” I said firmly. “I am not having sex with you, or letting you eat me out, or even letting you touch me more than is appropriate in public until I have new clothes, new shoes, new books, and new bras.”

He stared at me. I had never refused him sex before, and shock, arousal, and anger slid across his face before it settled on resignation. “Fine,” he said. He got off the bed and prowled towards me, bringing to mind one of the panthers that used to roam my North Carolina mountains. “But when we get home...”

I didn't even realize I had been backing away from him until I hit a wall, and he put his hands on either side of my head and leaned in. “When we get home,” he said darkly, “you are going to let me chain you to my bed, and then you are going to take what I give you. Understood?”

I swallowed hard at his tone, but nodded. He moved his arms and walked away from me. “I'll be down in a minute,” he said over his shoulder, his voice now normal and slightly playful.

I looked after him for a second, then shook my head hard and headed to the kitchen. I popped the cold pancakes in the microwave, then set out two steaming plates on the table just as Dean walked into the room. He kissed me on the forehead, then sat down and dug in.

I was still in a bit of shock from the abrupt personality change he had displayed in the bedroom, so I sat down and ate my food mechanically, not really tasting it. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair and watched me eat. When I finished, he took both our plates to the sink, then turned around and noticed me still sitting in my chair. “Are you coming?” he said questioningly.

I nodded and got up, starting towards the door. Before I could get there, he grabbed my hand and pulled me gently towards him. “Quit looking at me like I'm going to eat you alive!” he teased, wrapping his arms around my waist. I relaxed in his gentle embrace, the morning's excitement beginning to return.

I pulled away from him and pulled my phone out. “It's 7:45!” I said with alarm. “Let's go!”

I grabbed his hand and towed him, willingly, towards the garage and the Impala.

The drive seemed like it took forever, although Dean had broken the speed limit horribly, and when we arrived I was out of the car before he had gotten it into park. I bounced impatiently as he took an eternity getting out of the car himself, and as soon as he had shut his door, I had grabbed his hand and was practically sprinting towards the mall. “Come oooon,” I said. “Walk faster!”

By the time we got to the door of the mall, he was full-on laughing at me and my enthusiasm. I shot him a dirty look, but before I could read him the riot act, my attention was caught by an Old Navy sign and I was off again.

I spent four hours trawling for clothes, two buying shoes, and two more in the bookstore, with only a short break for lunch in the food court. I had left my entire pleasure-reading collection at my townhouse, and I needed new books badly. By hour five, Dean was drooping, and by the time I decided I was done, he was completely exhausted; I found him dozing on a bench outside Barnes & Noble when I came out. To be fair, I was also a little wilted, but the best part of the trip was yet to come.

He dumped all the bags into the back of the Impala, then dropped into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. He stretched his legs out and leaned against the back of the seat, obviously trying to get kinks out of his back and legs. I looked at him fondly. Sometimes I forgot he was pushing forty, and that he'd had a life that wasn't kind to his joints and muscles.

When he sat up, I pulled out the map of Grand Rapids I had gotten hold of. “Okay,” I said, “Next, we're going to -”

He interrupted, looking at me in disbelief. “Next? NEXT?! Where else could you possibly need to go?”

Trying not to laugh, I said, “I still need bras, Dean.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then slowly leaned forward and started banging his head against the steering wheel. “Why did I agree to this?” he asked under his breath.

“To make me happy, I thought,” I said softly. His head shot up and he looked at me in alarm, ready to apologize, but relaxed and glared when he saw the huge grin on my face. “Also, because I had just fucked your brains out and you were willing to promise me whatever I wanted.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered, but started the car.

We got to the lingerie store with a minimum of wrong turns - “You know, Sam and I never get lost.” “Shut UP, Dean” - and parked in front of the small brick building. There was a very tasteful display of a deep purple bra and panty set on a mannequin in the window, and I was encouraged.

When we entered the store, it was just as elegant. Dean looked around, then plopped down in a chair by the door and leaned his head back against the wall. “Wake me up when you're through,” he muttered.

I shook my head and walked over to a rack of bras, browsing through the gorgeous pieces and subtly checking prices and sizes. Nothing was cheap, but it wasn't horrendously expensive either, and it was impossible to get cheap bras in my size anyway. Speaking of – yes, they did carry my size, as well as one above it, in case something I liked ran small. 

When the saleslady said, “Can I help you?” next to me, I jumped, then turned to face her.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!” she said laughingly. “I'm Danielle. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I just need some basic things,” I said. “Pretty much my entire lingerie wardrobe is worn out.”

She nodded. “Okay. Do you know what size you wear?”

I told her, and she began moving among the racks and picking out various bras. I rejected a few without trying them on for being too elaborate for everyday wear, then disappeared into the dressing room with the rest. 

I emerged with five everyday bras to purchase, and laid them on the counter for Danielle to ring up. When she went to pick up the first one, I hesitated and said, “Hang on for just a second?” She nodded, puzzled, and I walked carefully over to Dean.

His head was resting against the wall, his eyes were closed, and he was actually snoring softly. Excellent.

When I got back to the sales counter, I said, “I wanted to make sure my boyfriend was asleep. Now. I'd like a few pretty things to wear for him.” Was he my boyfriend? We should probably discuss that at some point.

She smiled, then said “Follow me.”

Danielle led me through a small archway I hadn't even noticed in the side wall of the shop into a room filled with underthings that were more – interesting. The front room had been fairly basic, bras and underwear, some pretty and elaborate, but nothing that was obviously meant to be worn for a partner. These things, though – corsets, crotchless panties, garter belts – these were for display.

I looked around, then confessed, “Um, I'm not entirely sure where to start.”

She laughed and said, “It can be a little overwhelming, but let's start with a few basic things. Are you looking for a bra and panty set, a corset, that kind of thing, or are you looking for something a little more specifically sexual?”

I blushed and said, “Ah, probably the first. I think crotchless panties and sexy nurse costumes aren't really his thing.” Then I thought about his comment on my skirts and reconsidered. “Well, maybe the panties.”

She nodded. “Okay. Do you have any particular colors in mind?” When I shook my head, she continued, “Great. So I'm going to pick out a few things for you, and you tell me what you like and don't like, and we'll go from there.”

She moved around the room, grabbing things from the display quicker than I could see, then came over to me. “We actually have separate dressing rooms in here, because this used to be a completely different shop and we took over their space. So, you can try them on in here and not worry about your boyfriend catching a peek before he's supposed to.”

I carried the armful of garments into the dressing room, then dropped them all on the bench and stared at them. Okay. I took a deep breath and picked up the least threatening item, a deep blue bra and panty set that was trimmed in black lace. The bra was a plunge style, slightly padded, and the underwear would sit just on my hips, with the side panels and back made of sheer black lace. I put it on, shimmying the panties over my own underwear, and looked in the mirror.

Holy shit.

The deep blue subtly highlighted the red in my hair, and the black lace contrasted beautifully with my pale skin. I sucked in a breath, turning to see the back, and realized that the underwear was crotchless. Oh my God. _Okay. Breathe, Kat._

I carefully removed the items, hung them back up, and made them the start of my “I probably want this” pile. The next thing I laid my hand on was a pale pink corset, also trimmed in black, with a matching garter belt and black thigh-high stockings. As I picked up the set to take it off the hanger, I saw that it also came with a black thong. When I got it on, it fit perfectly, and the stockings even made my short legs look longer. With the pair of knee-high black boots I had just bought, this would be stunning. I added it to the “probably want this” pile.

I didn't examine the next set particularly closely before I put it on, only enough to really notice that it was a bra and panty set in dark green. When I got it on, though, I realized that there was a hole cut in the front of each bra cup that my nipples showed through perfectly. The panties were also crotchless. I looked in the mirror and frowned. Dean might like this, but I didn't. I just felt too exposed. I pulled the set off and started a “nope” pile.

I kept trying on the items Danielle had brought me, discarding a sheer babydoll, a net bodysuit, and some sort of vinyl thing that I didn't even try to put on. I picked up the last item in the pile, another bra and panty set, and slipped into it. When I turned to look in the mirror, my breath caught.

The black lace of the bra barely covered my nipples, then plunged to a deep V between my breasts – not that it mattered what the lace covered, since it was pretty much completely see-though. The bottom of the cup was just slightly padded, pushing my breasts up and together, and a small crystal was sewn to the center of the bra. The matching thong had three elastic bands set above the waistband, giving a crisscross bondage-type effect, with a similar crystal set in the intersection of the bands.

I bit my lip, and thought about what Dean had promised would happen when we got home. I slowly took the set off, put my clothes back on, and walked out of the dressing room. I handed Danielle the things I didn't like and we went back to the front to check out.

Once I had paid, I checked to make sure Dean was still asleep before I asked, “Um, can I wear one out?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, and I went back into a dressing room. I decided on the black lace set, loving the sight of the black contrasting with my skin, and pulled my clothes back on. I put my old underthings into the bag, then walked over to Dean.

I stood in front of him with my hands on my hips, then said loudly, “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

He jerked awake, looking around frantically before he realized where he was. He saw the shopping bag on my arm, sighed in relief, and said, “Can we PLEASE go home now?”

I turned around to roll my eyes in exasperation at Danielle, but she was already giggling at the pleading tone in his voice. “Yes, honey, we can go home now,” I said. “Come on.” He stood up and walked out the door, holding it for me as I turned around and said, “Thanks, Danielle!”

“No problem!” she called back, winking at me. I grinned back, then turned and walked out of the shop.

I slid into the front passenger seat of the car, wincing as my back began to remind me that I had been standing up for almost all of nine hours, and that I was no longer nineteen with endless energy. I was suddenly completely exhausted, and I was pretty sure I was going to sleep all the way home.

Dean, of course, was now rejuvenated from his nap and practically bouncing off the ceiling of the Impala from excitement at finally going home. I managed to stay awake for long enough to navigate us back onto the highway, then promptly fell asleep against the window.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I woke up to the sound of the car door slamming as Dean got out to raise the garage door. I sat up straight and stretched, bringing my arms down just as he got back into the car. He pulled us forward into the garage, then bounded out of the car. I got out more slowly, wincing as my knees popped, then rushed around to the back of the car as I remembered there were a few purchases I didn't want him to see.

Sure enough, he was opening the lingerie bag just as I reached him. Glad my old things were on top, I smacked his hand and snatched the bag away. “You're gonna see it all anyway,” I said. “Have patience.”

Carrying only the bag of lingerie, I headed down the stairs, only to hear Dean yell, “Really? You're gonna make me carry all of this?”

I didn't respond, instead continuing down the stairs, where I almost ran straight into Sam. “Hi,” he said. “What took you so long? We were starting to get worried.”

Dean must have heard Sam's voice, because before I could respond, he shouted, “Hey, Sammy! Can I get some help up here?”

Sam gave me a puzzled look before heading up the stairs. I stayed just long enough to hear “Jesus Christ, Kat!” before heading to my room. Just as I turned the corner into the bedroom hallway, Charlie popped out of her door and saw me. “Hey, I heard the commotion!” Then she saw the bag. “Ooooh. Lingerie?” I nodded. “Let me see?” I slipped into her room and shut the door behind me just as the boys hauled the rest of the bags into the hallway.

I grabbed the basic bras and set them to the side. “These are boring,” I said. “Here's the fun stuff.” I pulled out the two sets in the bag and laid them on her bed, watching for her reaction. She glanced at the underwear, then at me, then back at the underwear, and her eyes glazed over.

“Um, yeah,” she said. “Those are, uh, not boring.”

I laughed, then said, “You haven't even seen my favorite one yet.” She raised a questioning eyebrow at me, and I quickly pulled off my shirt and stepped out of my skirt.

“Holy fuck, Kat,” she whispered. “You look...edible.”

I blushed and began pulling my clothes back on. “Damn,” she said softly. “Sometimes I really wish I hadn't told you Dean liked you as much as you liked him.”

I laughed and said, “Sorry! Come on, though, we would have killed each other after a month. And aren't you dating Nicole now?”

“Yeah, I am,” she sighed. “But the sex would've been fantastic.”

I blushed again, collected my lingerie, and left her to her fantasies.

When I stepped into my room, Dean was sitting on the bed waiting for me, the shopping bags dumped on the floor. “Um. Hi?” I said, turning around to put the lingerie bag on top of the dresser. When I turned back, he was standing six inches from me, a hungry look on his face.

“Do you remember,” he said, “what I told you was gonna to happen when we got home?”

I shivered. _You are going to let me chain you to my bed, and then you are going to take what I give you. Understood?_

“Yes,” I whispered.

He took my glasses off, put them on the dresser, and grinned wolfishly. “Let's go.”

I followed Dean into his bedroom, and he shut the door behind me as I stepped inside. When I looked at the bed, I realized that he had already wound two chains through the bars of the headboard and footboard, then attached the cuffs to the ends of the chains. When had he had time to do that?

I abruptly stopped thinking about Dean's time management skills when he gently lifted my chin so that I was meeting his eyes. “Okay,” he said softly. “I know you're relatively new at this. I really hope you never have to use it, but I need you to pick a safeword.”

I swallowed hard. I mean, I'd read _Fifty Shades_ like every other woman above eighteen, but I had the feeling that Dean was nothing like Christian Grey. For one thing, I though he might actually have fewer issues than the stalker billionaire. I also didn't think that the “green,” “yellow” and “red” system was exactly what he was going for here.

My mind came back to my current situation when he squeezed my chin a little tighter and said, “Kitten. Safeword.”

_Right. Shit. Okay. Safeword. Jesus Christ. Um. How the hell do I pick a safeword?_ My mind raced, trying to come up with something that would never be said in bed. “Uh. Topeka?”

He dropped my chin and said, his voice still gentle, “Okay. Topeka it is. You say that if you are even the slightest bit uncomfortable with what I'm doing to you, okay? Understand that if you say 'no' or 'stop,' I will ignore you. You have to remember that word.”

When I nodded, he stepped back and his voice hardened. “Strip.”

I swallowed again, trying to get some saliva into my dry mouth. I couldn't decide if I was terrified or aroused; in all honesty, in was probably a combination of both. When I finally got my hands to work, I pulled my t-shirt off over my head and my skirt off over my hips, stepping out of it to leave it in a pool on the ground.

Dean had moved behind me while I was taking off my clothes, and I felt his hands combing through my hair. Before I could really wonder what he was doing, he pulled it into a low ponytail at the base of my neck. “As much as I enjoy seeing your beautiful hair spread out across my pillows,” he murmured into my neck, “it would probably be better if it were out of the way. Turn around.”

I turned around, and when Dean saw what I was wearing, his mouth actually dropped open before he snapped it closed and resumed his Dom persona. “Very pretty,” he drawled. He moved towards me, then slid his finger into one of the elastic bands making up the thong and snapped it. I jumped, and he laughed, a bit unkindly. “As pretty as it is, though, you're still gonna have to take it off.”

I took a deep breath and reached behind me to unfasten the bra, sliding it off my arms and letting it fall to the floor, before pulling the underwear down and stepping out of them. I stood naked in front of him, fighting for the first time since the very beginning of our relationship not to cover myself. He walked around me, looking up and down my body, inspecting me like a horse he planned to buy.

Finally, he finished his examination and gestured to the bed. “Up.” I climbed onto the bed and went to lie down, but thought again and knelt in the middle of the mattress, and Dean looked approving. “Good job.” He pulled his black t-shirt off over his head and climbed onto the bed with me. “Now lie down, head on the pillow, arms and legs spread.”

I did as he said, trying not to let myself shake as I did it. He climbed on top of me and then knelt, knees on either side of my chest, as he leaned forward and fastened the leather cuffs around my wrists. He looked at the ankle cuffs, but shook his head and left them off. “Now,” he said softly, “here are the ground rules. First, you will not speak. Non-verbal noises are fine, but there had better not be any words. Second, the only exception to rule number one is if I ask you a direct question, which you must answer. Third, you will call me sir. Fourth, you will not come unless I tell you that you can. And, of course, you will do everything I say when I say it. Since this is your first real scene, I will give you one free slip-up before I punish you. Are those rules clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

He sat back and smiled, a slow, cruel smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Let's get started.”

_What,_ I wondered, _have I gotten myself into?_

He started by just touching me, running his hands over every part of my body he could reach, but carefully avoiding any obvious erogenous zones such as my nipples or my sex. I was so tense that his fingers on my ribcage didn't tickle, but when he reached my feet and ran his fingers along my instep, only iron self-control kept my reaction to a sudden jerk instead of kicking him in the face. He looked up at me, eyes narrowed, but didn't repeat the action. I slowly relaxed under the gentle touches, even turning my head to the side when he started tracing patterns on my throat to give him more skin to work with.

When all the tension had drained from my body, and I laid limp under his hands with my eyes closed, he stopped the constant soft touches and asked, “How do you feel, kitten?”

“Good, sir,” I murmured. “Warm. Floaty.”

“Perfect,” he said, pushing an errant lock of hair off my forehead and kissing it. Then he slipped down and captured my lips with his own, quickly turning a soft, gentle kiss into something raw and needy. When he pulled away from me, my lips were swollen and I was panting for breath and pulling at the cuffs.

He slowly kissed down my jaw to my throat, spending an inordinately long time licking and sucking every inch of skin. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation of his lips and tongue on my skin. He finally reached the dip in my collarbone, where I was so sensitive, and kissed and nibbled at it for a while, until I was sighing audibly.

Then he bit me. Hard.

I jerked and squeaked, shocked by the sudden pain and instinctively trying to pull away from it. Instead, from his position kneeling over top of me, he grabbed my waist and held me still for his teeth. It felt like he was gnawing at my skin, trying to get through it to the bone beneath. Just as the pain began to verge on tear-worthy, he stopped, and soothed the spot with his tongue. He planted soft kisses over my trembling shoulders and chest, and when he released my waist, I didn't try to move.

When he showed no inclination to repeat the bite, I slowly relaxed and began to enjoy the sensations of his kisses again. He was liberal with them, moving his mouth from the pulse point behind my ear down to the base of my sternum, never touching my breasts.

Then he kissed my lips again, and the relaxed arousal I was enjoying evaporated under his hungry mouth, turning into a much more primal need. This time, when he pulled away from the kiss, he moved directly to my breast, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it hard. I moaned at the sudden stimulation and he looked up at me, his eyes dark with something I couldn't identify. He sucked and licked at the nipple until it was hard and glistening, then sank his teeth into it. I cried out, almost a scream, and he immediately drew back. When I looked down, I could see his teeth marks in the sensitive skin. He gave the sting a moment to fade, then licked at the pink point until the pain had faded to a dull ache.

When he turned to my other breast, I stayed tense. I was beginning to figure out how this game was played, and when he bit me, I was expecting it. I kept my cry behind my teeth this time, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. Instead of following his normal pattern and drawing back, then licking the pain away, he instead leaned forward and bit harder. This time I did scream; it felt like he was trying to bite my nipple off, so excruciating was the pain. As as soon as I screamed, though, he removed his teeth and began lightly sucking on the abused peak.

After I caught my breath, I thought, _Okay. We've learned two things here: he likes to alternate pleasure with painful surprises, and he wants to hear me when he hurts me._

I filed those thoughts away and returned my attention to Dean, who was now licking and nibbling around my navel. I tensed and waited for the bite, but it never came. Instead, he continued downwards, sucking bruises into the skin of my belly and hips. As I half expected, he skipped right over my throbbing center and down to my thighs, carefully running his lips and tongue over each thin silver scar.

I turned my head to the side and tried not to cry. No one had ever done anything like that before. Every other sexual partner I'd had had, at best, completely ignored the scars; certainly no one had ever worshiped them like Dean was right now.

He noticed, of course, probably because my chest was heaving as I fought back sobs. He stopped his ministrations and raised up, enough to look me in the face. Obviously puzzled, since he wasn't hurting me and I hadn't used the safeword, he asked, “What's wrong, kitten?”

I shook my head and bit my lip, determined not to let the tears spill over. His voice darkened and he said, “That was your free pass. Now, answer me.”

_Ah, shit._ I'd completely forgotten about rule number two. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. “No one's ever done anything like that before, sir. Paid any attention to the...scars. They've all just ignored them.” As I had known would happen, my voice broke and I started to cry.

“Oh, kitten,” he sighed, and I felt him reach up and begin to unfasten the cuff around my right wrist.

My eyes snapped open – when had I closed them? - and I pleaded, “No, sir, please don't, I'm fine! I'm sorry! It was just unexpected, is all.”

“Are you sure?” he said, looking down at me in concern.

“Yes sir, I'm sure,” I replied.

“Well then,” he said, refastening the cuff, “you're going to have to be very careful from here on out. You've used your free pass, and I'm really looking forward to any excuse to use that on you.” He nodded towards the bedside table, and I saw the leather flogger. 

My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't decide if I wanted him to use it or not. I finally decided that I would try really hard to follow the rules, but if I slipped up, I certainly wasn't safewording out. 

Dean resumed his place between my legs, this time spreading them wide and nibbling at my outer lips. I had a feeling I knew where this was going, and I also knew it was going to be really difficult not to break rule number four with his talented tongue on me.

While still avoiding my clit, Dean slipped a finger into me and gently wiggled it, pressing against my walls and stretching me slightly. I moaned at the glorious feeling, involuntarily clenching around the intrusion. “You like that, huh?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You want more?”

“Yes, please, sir,” I gasped out, all hints of tears gone from my voice and my mind. He slid another finger in next to the first and continued moving them, pumping them slowly in and out. I whimpered and bucked my hips up against his hand, seeking more of that wonderful stimulation.

“Stay still,” he ordered. I moaned but lowered my hips down to the bed, using more self-control than I knew I had to keep them there. He kept fucking me with his fingers for what seemed like hours, watching me fall apart, until I thought I might die if he didn't touch my clit soon.

When he withdrew his slick fingers, I whined in protest. “Easy there,” he said mockingly. “I promise you'll like this even better.”

I jerked in surprise when something hard pressed against my clit. I had been expecting Dean's tongue, and this was definitely not it. My confusion only lasted a moment, though, before soft vibrations began to run through my center. _Oh God, he has a vibrator._

At first I fought not to lift my hips off the bed, but when his husky voice said, “You can move as much as you want, kitten,” I quit fighting. I pushed against the vibrator, dying to come, until I remembered I wasn't allowed to. Then I tried to shrink back, retreat from the stimulation that was driving me towards orgasm, but the vibrator followed me.

I took deep breaths, trying to fight the climax that was looming. _Aren't you supposed to think about baseball statistics or something? I don't know anything about baseball! Feels so good...Shit! How do you kill a rugaru? Fire, I think. What about a shojo? Katana with a Shinto blessing. A...rakshasa...oh my God..._

My eyes rolled back as the orgasm ripped through me, my hips bucking against the vibrator as Dean kept it against me until the last tremors had subsided. I laid there, panting, until I heard his deep voice say, “Did I say you could come?” I gulped. Fuck. 

He reached above my head and did something to the chain that lengthened it, giving me enough slack that I could pull my arms down a little further. Then he grabbed my waist and flipped me over, leaving me on my front with my wrists crossed in front of me. I felt the mattress shift as he got off the bed, then his fingers were on my ankle as he locked a cuff around it. As he restrained the other ankle, I buried my face in the pillow and tried to control my breathing.

I heard movement to my right, where the bedside table was, and tried to repress a full-body shiver. That was where the flogger was. He was going to flog me. I tried desperately to remember how it was made, recalling that there weren't any beads or anything at the end of the tails, and the tails themselves were relatively short. He was strong enough that he could make it hurt, probably quite a bit, but I didn't think it would be unbearable.

I jumped when he said in my ear, “Why are you being punished?”

“Be-because I came without permission, sir,” I whimpered.

“That's right. I'm going to hit you fifteen times, and it's going to hurt. Tell me your safeword.”

“Topeka,” I forced out.

“Good girl.” I heard the first blow before I felt it, a harsh _slap_ against my back, then arched my spine and moaned into the pillow as the sting registered. It wasn't too bad, no worse than the spanking, and I was fairly confident I could handle it. 

Somewhere after the fifth blow, the strikes all blurred together into a haze of pain. I was crying out after each one, the pain building on itself until each new blow was twice as bad as the one before it. What surprised me, though, was how I had absolutely no inclination to use my safeword. Yeah, it hurt. It hurt a LOT. But all I had to do was lie there and take it, take what Dean gave me. I didn't have to make any decisions, I didn't have to be my usual smartass self, I didn't have to think. I just had to be. Something snapped in my head, and everything became slightly hazy; the pain, the restraints, the unexpected arousal rushing through me. 

When the blows finally stopped, I was whining into the pillows and shaking, but still floating in that warm space I had found during the flogging. I felt rough hands on my ankles, unfastening the cuffs, and then grabbing my hips and flipping me over onto my abused back. The ankle cuffs were refastened, giving me enough slack that I could bend my knees a little, and then the mattress moved. I opened my eyes just in time to see Dean, having taken off his jeans at some point, slam into me with absolutely no warning.

I arched my back and almost choked on the pleasure. I was dripping wet from the orgasm and the flogging, and he slid in with no resistance. He started fucking me hard and fast, and again I had no choice but to lie there and take it. The pleasure built, spiraling inside my belly, and I fought it as hard as I could. Just as I thought I was about to lose again, Dean leaned down and snarled, “Come.”

I did, white lights exploding behind my eyes as my body spasmed in release. I dimly felt Dean thrust into me hard, shuddering on top of me as his own climax seized him.

As the tremors faded, I became uncomfortably aware of how heavy Dean was. I wiggled under him, silently reminding him that he was crushing me, and he groaned and slowly withdrew. He reached up and undid the wrist cuffs, then moved off me to get off the bed and unfasten my ankles.

Once my limbs were free, he disappeared into the bathroom and I flexed my arms and wrists, trying to get the ache out of them. By the time he returned with a wet cloth, I had flopped over onto my belly with my arms folded under my head and was drifting off.

“Hey, kitten,” he said softly, “I need you to roll back over so I can clean you up.” I shook my head drowsily, floating in a sea of endorphins and contentment. “Kat,” he said sternly, clearly trying to hide his amusement, “do not make me get the flogger again.” I craned my head around just enough to glare at him, then sighed heavily and rolled over, splaying my limbs out.

“Here,” I said. “'S all yours.”

He looked at me, spread open on the bed, and whistled softly. “That would be a dangerous thing to say if I hadn't come literally ten minutes ago, kitten.”

I smiled sleepily up at him. “S'ry.”

He shook his head and smiled back, then began to wash the sweat and other fluids from my body. He rolled me over gently once he was done with my front and began running the cloth over my back and ass. I hissed as the rough terrycloth touched abused skin, and he said, “Shit. I'll be careful, sorry.”

“No,” I said, “'s 'kay. Hurts good.”

I drifted in a warm haze as he finished cleaning me off, then wiped himself down and threw the washcloth on the floor. He climbed into bed next to me, carefully pulling me against him so that my back met his smooth chest.

“So how was that?” he asked, breath rustling the hair by my ear.

“Good,” I sighed.

“I didn't hurt you, did I? I mean, I know I did, but -”

“Uh-uh,” I interrupted. “Was good.”

I heard him chuckle. “You are really far down, aren't you? Jesus Christ. I wasn't expecting that during your first scene.”

I cuddled into him and replied, “Mmm.”

He sighed and draped his arm over my waist. “You are going to be completely incoherent until you come up, aren't you? That's fine. You want me to just hold you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “I can do that.”

I fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me, floating in my pink haze and enjoying the dull tingling from my back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, this is what Kat bought.
> 
> http://lingerieseduction.co.uk/plus-size-basques-corsets-bustiers/dg3864-ursula-corset-dreamgirl-plus-size-lingerie-orchid-purple-pink-lime-yellow.html  
> http://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/donna-range/  
> http://www.adoreme.com/bras-and-panties/jolene.html


	11. Revelations, Plans, and Men I Might Have Feelings For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed the author with comments!

When I woke up, feeling much more normal and less floaty, Dean still had his arm thrown over me and was nuzzled into my neck. I smiled at the feeling of his breath tickling my ear and stretched my arms out in front of me, trying to get the kinks out of muscles that had been in one position for too long.

_OW!_

I yelped at the unexpected soreness as the bruised, abraded skin of my back let me know, in no uncertain terms, that it did not appreciate the movement. The noise disturbed Dean, and he snuggled closer and pulled me tighter against his body. That put horrible pressure on my back and I jerked away instinctively, leading to more pain as the sudden movement jarred the bruises.

I finally gritted my teeth and shoved Dean away completely, kicking off the blankets and rolling over until I was lying on my front and there was nothing touching my raw back. After I caught my breath from the wave of pain that had come with rolling over, I moaned into the pillow. How could what had felt so amazing last night be so fucking miserable this morning? It was like a BDSM hangover.

My thrashing about had woken Dean, who looked me over and said, “Easy, Kat. I'll get you some ibuprofen, okay?”

I turned my head to glare at him. “Yeah. Okay.”

He got out of bed and rummaged through his dresser, finally coming up with a little white bottle out of which he tapped two red pills. He stopped, looked at the pills in his hand, looked at me, looked back at the pills, then tapped out one more before he recapped the bottle and put it away. He brought the pills to me, along with a bottle of water I hadn't noticed on the dresser, and I pushed up on my elbows to swallow them.

Once I had them down, I flopped back onto my belly and groaned into the pillows. I heard some genuine concern as well as amusement in his voice as he asked, “You gonna live?”

“No,” I said into the pillows. “I'm going to die, and then haunt the fuck out of your little BDSM box so you have to burn that evil flogger to make me go away.”

Now he was laughing at me. “I'm serious, dickhead. Watch me. I'll knock shit over, and scream in your ear at 3 am, and break windows, and all kinds of fun stuff.” I turned my head just in time to see him sink to the floor beside the bed, clutching his stomach as he howled with laughter. I rolled my eyes and buried my face back in the pillow. Ass.

When he finally pulled himself together, my anger had died down a bit along with the pain; it was still sore, but didn't hurt when I gingerly tried flexing my shoulders. I sat up and swung my legs off the bed, accidentally-on-purpose kicking Dean in the chest, and snickered at the “oof” of expelled air as I stood up and wandered towards the bathroom.

After I had conducted all necessary business, I turned to look at my back in the mirror and gasped. It was all kinds of shades of blue and purple, and with my fair skin and slow healing, it would take weeks for the bruises to go away. _Dean's gonna love this._ “Were you were satisfied last night?” I called through the door.

I heard him chuckle, then say, “Yes, I certainly was.” There was a brief pause, then his voice came again, now suspicious. “Why?”

“Because I heal incredibly slowly, and you won't be touching my back with anything more than your hands for at least two weeks, probably three. I won't even be able to lie down on my back for four or five days.”

There was another, longer pause. “Well, shit.” I opened the door and smiled at him so sweetly I was surprised I didn't spontaneously develop cavities. I walked carefully over to the dresser and bent down to grab underwear and sweats out of “my” drawer, wincing as I did so.

“And, considering the way you cuddle in your sleep, I get the feeling we aren't sharing a bed for a little bit, either,” I added, then frowned. That one was actually upsetting to me, too. All other concerns aside, he was warm and the bunker was underground and cold.

After we'd both pulled our clothes on, Dean came over to me and kissed me tenderly, taking my face in his hands. “I'm sorry I hurt you,” he said gently, then grimaced. “Well, not sorry precisely, but...”

“I get it,” I responded, nuzzling into his hand. “You're sorry that what we both enjoyed is having lasting, inconvenient effects.” I shot him a cheeky grin and turned to leave the room, only for him to slap my ass.

_Oh no. Oh no he did not._

When I turned around, the look in my eyes must have been truly frightening, because Dean actually paled a bit and stepped back. “Do you remember what happened the last time you did that, honey?” I said, deceptively softly. He reflexively rubbed his jaw, then jerked his hand away and attempted to stare me down. _Sorry, sweetheart. Librarian here._

I took another step forward, only to have him take a step back, until he was actually pressed against a well. Me – five-foot-four, little ol' me – had successfully pinned big bad monster hunter Dean Winchester against a wall, and I was trying really hard not to laugh at the look of indecision on his face. _Yeah, you can stop me. Just remember that you won't get laid for weeks if you do._

I got closer and closer, until I was pressed up against him, then slowly slid down his body to my knees. When I reached up to unfasten his pants, he jerked in surprise, but made no move to stop me. I stroked him to full hardness, then swallowed him until the head of his cock pressed against the back of my throat. I started bobbing up and down slowly, sucking lightly, until I heard him moan and saw his hands clench into fists against the walls. I increased the speed and suction, flicking my tongue over the head on every pass, until he was panting and thrusting into my mouth.

Then I pulled off, tucked him back into his boxers and jeans, and fastened him up. As I got off my knees, I gave his dick a soft pat, then turned and walked out of the room. Just as I reached the door, Dean unfroze and bellowed, “Katherine Whitaker, you get back here RIGHT NOW!” I bolted for the kitchen, figuring someone would be in it. Probably Sam.

I was wrong; it was Cas, but that might work even better. I slid around the door, then ran and literally hid behind him just as Dean came stomping into the room. “Move, Cas,” he growled.

The angel didn't budge. “Ah, might I inquire what is happening here?” he asked. “Kat is hiding behind me, apparently from you, and you seem angry enough to warrant this.”

Dean sputtered, then managed to get out, “It's...personal, okay? Just move!”

“Please don't, Cas,” I whimpered from behind him, then stood on my toes and grinned at Dean over his shoulder. 

I swore I could see the vein in his forehead throb as he hissed, “You little bitch, just you wait until -” 

Castiel interrupted. “That will be enough, Dean. You are clearly frightening Kat. Perhaps you should go elsewhere?”

Dean glared, then whirled and stormed back out of the kitchen. I waited a few moments, then slipped out from behind the tan overcoat and kissed Cas on the cheek. “Thanks,” I whispered. “Don't suppose you'd poof me to where Sam and Charlie are?”

“I will,” he said, then suddenly I was standing in the library and Sam and Charlie were looking up expectantly. _Whoa._ I'd never traveled on the angel express before.

Cas disappeared, and I sank into a chair, leaning back unthinkingly before wincing and sitting up straight. _Well, this is gonna do wonders for my posture._

“Well,” Sam said, “what was that? Cas doesn't generally do in-bunker poofing.”

“Ah, Dean may or may not be furious with me right now,” I said, fidgeting in the chair.

“Uh-huh. And may I ask why?” Sam inquired.

“You can ask, Sam, and I'll even answer you, but let's just say the conversation would resemble one between Charlie and myself much more than one you would be comfortable with.”

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion for a second, before he figured it out and blushed. “Um, no, that's okay. You can keep it to yourself.” 

Charlie wiggled her phone at me, and it took me a second to realize what she wanted. When the lightbulb went off, I pulled mine out of the pocket of my sweatpants and texted _::so, I was leaving his room and he slapped my ass, and he was looking right at me, so I couldn't punch him like I normally would, remind me to tell you that story::_

My phone hit its character limit and I shook my head in frustration, then sent that message and started a new one. _::later. So anyway it had to be made clear that was unacceptable, so I may have gone down on him, stopped just before he came, and then run away::_

Charlie's phone dinged twice in quick succession. She read the messages, then burst out laughing, covering her mouth as she snickered. Sam looked at her, then looked at me, both with our phones in our hands, then blushed and turned back to his laptop. I saw her typing, then my phone beeped.

_::so on a scale of one to ten, how mad is he exactly?::_

I thought for a moment, then responded _::8? he probably wont actually kill me, but I could be in some pain if he gets hold of me::_

_::well then, I guess youd better stay here where we can guard you, huh?::_

“That was the plan, yeah,” I said aloud. “That's why I got Cas to poof me to wherever you were. Sam if y'all were apart, sorry. He could probably actually hold off a pissed Dean.”

“No apologies needed!” Charlie laughed. “I've seen an angry Dean, and it is not something I want to see again.”

“Well, that's unfortunate,” a voice drawled from the steps leading into the library.

I jumped out of my chair and put Sam between Dean and me, but he stayed in the doorway, arms folded over his chest and looking me over. “I suggest you get over here before I have to come get you,” he said in a black tone I had only heard once or twice before.

Charlie looked at me, looked at the clearly furious Dean, then grabbed her laptop. “As much as I love you, Kat, I am so not getting involved in this. Peace.” She sprinted out of the library, only slowing to edge past the unmoving man in the doorway.

Sam looked at his brother, then over at me and said, “Look, Dean and I made a deal a long time ago that we would never fight each other because of a girl. Like Charlie said, as much as I love you, I am so not getting involved in this. Please don't break anything valuable if you try to get away from him.” He put on headphones and looked back down at his laptop.

 _Shit._ Could Cas get here fast enough, if I prayed to him? Probably, but that was a gross abuse of prayer. I sighed, contemplated climbing the bookshelves for a moment, then surrendered to the inevitable and walked slowly over to Dean. As I had half expected, he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, then stalked off towards the bedrooms.

When we reached his, he kicked the door shut behind him, then let me slowly slide off his shoulder onto my feet. When I went to stand, though, he shook his head. “Kneel,” he said harshly, pointing at the floor. I looked up at him, then decided it was probably in my best interests to obey without mouthing off.

I went carefully to my knees, trying not to jar my back too much, but that was a waste as Dean pushed me roughly against the wall; I was lucky my legs were short, or I'd be doing a full backbend. “Now,” he said tightly, “you're going to finish what you started, except I'm not going to be nearly so gentle. Put your hands behind your back, and don't move them unless you need to tap out against my thigh.” He started unfastening his jeans, and my mouth went dry.

When his red, swollen cock was exposed, curving towards his belly, I gulped and opened my mouth. Before I could lean forward, though, Dean had tangled his hands in my hair and jerked me onto his cock. I hurriedly covered my teeth with my lips and tried to suck, but he wasn't going to give me a chance to use much technique this time. Instead, he fucked my mouth hard, hitting the back of my throat with every thrust as I coughed and choked around him. The brutal, fast rhythm he had set meant he wasn't going to last long, so I closed my eyes and took it.

I was right about the rhythm, and long before I felt the need to tap out, he was groaning and coming down my throat. He stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, then carefully untangled his hands from my hair and withdrew. I swallowed, then sank down to sit on my heels, letting my head droop forward as I caught my breath.

I heard his zipper, and then he was squatting on the ground in front of me. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked anxiously. “It wasn't too much, was it?”

I looked up at him with big, sad eyes, and let my lower lip tremble. “Why would you do that to me?” I said pitifully. When his eyes widened and his mouth opened in alarm, I dropped the mask and grinned. “That? Too much? Were you even in this room last night, honey?”

Dean smacked the back of my head lightly as he rose to his feet. “Don't scare me like that!” he scolded as he reached down to help me up. I took his hand and stood up, wincing at the popping noise from my knees and the ache in my bruised back. _Forget him,_ I'm _getting too old for this._

He wrapped his arm around my waist, then jerked it back at my hiss. “Sorry,” he apologized, and laid it instead across my shoulders. “Should we go reassure Sam and Charlie that you're still breathing?”

“Aw,” I said, pouting up at him. “I was gonna have so much fun pretending to haunt Charlie's underwear drawer!” He slapped the back of my head again, a little harder this time, and I rubbed the spot and scowled at him. “I'm about to revoke your NCIS privileges, buddy,” I warned. Then I frowned. “You don't even like police procedurals. Why do you watch it? I've never quite figured that out.”

He smiled. “Gibbs is badass, babe. If I get to be that old, I wanna be just like him.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. _If I get to be that old._ I always took it for granted that of course the boys would come back, of course they'd be fine, but...hunters died young, and Dean was already thirty-seven.

I shook my head to clear the morbid thoughts, then wrapped my arm around his waist. “Yeah, let's go.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once Sam and Charlie got over their shock at seeing us all over each other and laughing, all four of us settled into the lounge for a Game of Thrones marathon, since that was the only TV show all of us could agree to watch. No Doctor Who (“Total nerdgasm.” - Dean), no Gilmore Girls (“Lauren Graham is hot, dude.” “I know, but that guy looks just like me and it's creepy as _fuck._ ” - Sam), no NCIS (“Long story, okay?” - Charlie), and no Dr. Sexy (“Y'all are unhealthily obsessed.” - me). There weren't any cases pending, according to the automated news scanner Charlie had set up, so we were planning a very quiet day.

During one particular scene, Daenarys stood up out of her bath and gave us a full frontal, and Dean whistled. I slapped his chest and glared at him.

“What? The girl is hot!” he said. “Like you weren't thinking the same thing!”

I narrowed my eyes further and said, “You're lucky I like you,” then curled back up against his chest. He really was lucky I loved him, or he'd have a new bruise.

Then I froze.

_Fuck._

_Fuckity fuck fuck._

_Fuck fuck fuck I'm in love with him fuck nope we are not doing this we are not falling in love again we are getting out of this RIGHT FUCKING NOW_

“Uh,” I said, “I have to go. I'm not...feeling so well.” I untangled myself from Dean, climbed off the couch, and fled.

I bolted into my room and locked the door, then sat down on the floor against it, wrapped my arms around my knees, and rocked. My brain was jumping from thought to thought faster than I could process each one, from _can Charlie set me up a new identity_ to _I can't leave, I can't drive a stick_ to _what'll they do for research?_ I don't know how long I sat there, mind whirling around and around, before there was a knock on the door.

“Kat?” Charlie called. “I'm reheating that Chinese, do you want any?”

I managed to keep my voice steady as I replied, “No thanks, I'm not feeling real great. Kinda nauseous. Musta picked something up at the mall.”

“Aw, okay,” she said. “Keep it to yourself, okay? No one wants that!” I heard her footsteps fade down the hallway as she headed for the kitchen.

The interruption had served to jolt my mind back into proper thinking patterns. I couldn't ask Charlie to set me up somewhere, because I knew her, and if Dean looked sad she'd tell him everything he wanted to know. I was pretty sure I could do it myself, if I took my time and covered my tracks carefully. Charlie and Sam had taught me some tricks beyond the limited knowledge I had when I came into their lives. 

As for the physical aspect of leaving, I had taught myself to code using nothing but an online guide, so I was sure driving a stick couldn't be more difficult than that. I'd find a “dummy's guide to driving a manual transmission” on the internet, and go from there.

The research...well, they'd been managing before they found me. Between Sam and Charlie, surely they could figure things out themselves. 

I checked my phone. It was 12:42 pm. Okay, I was going to need to leave when everyone was asleep, so that gave me about ten, twelve hours to get everything together and planned out. I had my laptop and phone in this room. I'd pack up all my clothes in the shopping bags and duffels I'd brought with me when I'd first come here. My books...I swallowed. They'd have to stay; there was no way I'd be able to pack them up and schlep them up into the garage without anyone noticing. Besides, that way I was still contributing to their research.

I got off the floor and started mindlessly packing clothes, cramming as much as possible into the duffel bags. I actually managed to get everything into them, leaving me able to dump the shopping bags in the trash.

The next thing I had to do was set up my new self, and this was going to be the hard part. I sat my laptop on my lap, took a deep breath, and headed to the Social Security Administration's website.

I found a woman whom, had she not died in a car accident five years ago, would be thirty-one this year, and decided she would do nicely. It took me a few tries to get in far enough, but I managed to delete her death certificate and change the photo the DMV had on file. I then opened a new account with “Tamara Davis's” bank, into which “Anne Meyers” would be depositing and withdrawing funds. _Thank God I watched Charlie do this._

As I carefully backed out of all the hacks, making sure to cover my tracks thoroughly so Charlie or Sam couldn't trace me, the first tears started to fall. I angrily swiped at them as they ran down my cheeks, proof that not all of me thought this was a good idea. I couldn't do it, though. Not after Jon. I had never loved Robert, the skinwalker; he was just supposed to be fun, something to distract me a little while I worked on my doctorate. Then there was that whole mess with the stalking and the dead animals and the threats written in blood and Bobby Singer showing up on my doorstep, and if Jon hadn't put me off relationships, that sure would have.

I was certain neither Dean nor Sam knew just how deep my issues went, or they never would have allowed me into their lives. Even before my little revelation about Dean, they were kept at arms length. Sure, they knew I had emotional problems, and they'd seen the effects, but I refused to let them all the way in. If they were all the way in, if I cared about them too much, they could hurt me, and no one was ever going to hurt me again like Jon had. Ever. I had made that decision when I was twenty-two, and nine years later, I was going to stick to it.

A little voice in the back of my mind asked, _But what if Dean's not like Jon or Robert? Or your father?_ I pushed it down. Of course he was. All men were. They were good for lifting heavy things, killing bugs, and making babies (if you wanted them). Nothing else. Why had I let good sex block out what I knew to be true?

Even Charlie – I swallowed – as much as I adored her, I couldn't let her know how deep the wounds went. It wasn't just love that could hurt, as I'd learned with that awful coworker. Friends were just as capable of bringing me to my knees as lovers, and I wasn't willing to give anyone that power over me.

I checked the clock. Ten pm. Just a couple more hours. Sam and Dean had both checked on me throughout the day, their concerned voices coming muffled through the door, and I had warded them off with tales of nausea and vomiting. Just then, I heard Dean's voice.

“Kat, I'm headed to bed, okay? If you need anything, you know where I am.” There was a moment of silence, then, when he didn't receive a response, he turned and walked down the hallway towards his room. Probably figured I was asleep. 

I mercilessly choked the guilt until it died, then silently opened my door and peeked into the hallway. All the cracks under the doors were dark, and I didn't hear anything. I tiptoed down the hall and into the main room; everything was dark and quiet.

I went back to my room and grabbed my bags, hauling them up to the garage as quietly as I could. I tossed them in the ancient car Charlie had used to take me to Wal-Mart so long ago, since I knew it ran, and quietly went back to my room to grab my laptop and purse.

As I was about to leave, I hesitated, then put my laptop bag and purse down. I pulled a small notepad out of my purse, one I'd had forever, and scribbled a quick note on it. Then I picked up everything again and walked out of the Winchesters' lives forever. 

The only thing I'd left behind, besides my books, was that one note expressing my feelings as best I could.

_I'm sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid Kat.
> 
> Since I'm a terrible human being, and also because midterms are coming up, updates are going to get farther apart. Sorry!


	12. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE MINI CHAPTER

Dean knocked loudly on Kat's door. “Get up, sweetheart, it's like 12 o'clock and you need to at least try to eat something,” he called through the door. When he got no response, he frowned. That was odd. He tried the doorknob, and it was unlocked. Well, at least he didn't have to pick the lock this time.

Stepping into the dark room, he said, “You really do need to wake up, you know.” He flipped the lights on, then stared around in shock.

The room had clearly been emptied out, the drawers of the dresser and night table standing open, her books and clothes gone. Dean flew into the bathroom, where all the toiletries were missing as well, and panicked.

“Sam! SAM!” he yelled, as loudly as he possibly could. “Get your ass in here!”

Sam arrived at the door exactly seven seconds later, then stopped and stared in the same shock. “What the hell?” he said. “Did she – I mean – was there any hint of this?”

“No, man!” Dean said. “Nothing. She never said anything – oh God, do you think someone kidnapped her and is trying to make us think she left?”

“No,” Sam said slowly, picking up a pink slip of paper from the bed. “No, I don't think so...”

Dean snatched the note from his hand. “Why? What does it say?” he demanded, then looked for himself.

_I'm sorry._

Dean balled up the paper and flung it against the wall. “Dammit! Why would she do this? I thought everything was good, I thought we were good, I thought she liked it here. I know she liked it here! Why would she just – leave?”

“I don't know, Dean,” Sam said softly.

Dean stood still for a minute, staring at the floor, breathing hard. Then he brought his head up slowly, a hard, dangerous look in his eyes.

“We're going to find her. Whether she likes it or not.”


	13. A Day in the Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another mini-chapter, sorry! The thing about being a graduate student is that instead of giving you nice, normal tests at midterm, they make you write papers, which seriously cuts into my 'fun' writing time (I know, how rude.).
> 
> Regardless, a full-length chapter should hopefully be up either tomorrow or the next day.

**Eight months later  
Columbus, Georgia**

 

_I was making love to someone, sweet and gentle, but I couldn't quite see his face. His features were blurry, but his body wasn't, and I ran my hands over a smooth muscular back that flexed with his movements. I felt myself moving closer and closer to climax, and I threw my head back and moaned as he leaned down and whispered, “Come for me, kitten...”_

A harsh beeping woke me up, and I sat bolt upright and shook my head hard to clear the remnants of the dream. When I looked blearily at the alarm clock, the glowing green numbers read '6:00' and I groaned and turned the damn thing off. I enjoyed the warmth of my covers for just a few more seconds before sighing heavily and throwing the blankets back, putting my feet on the floor and rubbing my hands over my face.

I showered and pulled my wet hair into a bun, not bothering to even dry it, and dabbed on some basic makeup. When I went back into my room, I pulled a pair of dark grey slacks and a pale pink blouse out of the closet, quickly slipping into them and a pair of black flats. I went over to my dresser and put on a pair of silver earrings and my ever-present charm bracelet (which carried charms engraved with angel warding sigils... _stop thinking about it_ )

I opened the door and narrowly avoided stepping on Emmy, who meowed plaintively and wound around my ankles. I nudged her to the side with my foot and went into the kitchen, where I poured kibble into her bowl and set about eating my own bowl of cereal.

I dropped my dishes into the sink and checked the clock on the wall, which read '7:30.' Shit. I quickly grabbed my purse and clattered down the two flights of stairs, emerging onto the street where I'd parked my car (not the one I'd taken from the bunker, the one I'd bought in Arkansas, to make sure the boys... _stop thinking about it_ ) and hopping into the driver's seat.

I flew through the streets of downtown, managing to park and get into the office at record speed. When I finally made it through the door of my office, the clock on my desk read '7:59.' I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, opening my email and beginning to go through the flood I'd received overnight. It was remarkable how many people wanted to talk to the curator of a tiny museum on local history; I was sure I'd have at least five new voicemails as well.

I spent my morning dealing with a load of new acquisitions we'd just received from the city government. Apparently, Columbus' city council thought that every document ever produced by the city deserved a shrine of its own, and I ended up going through a year of meeting minutes to find even a few pages that could be included in our “City Government In Action” display. 

I had two assistant curators, and it seemed as though every few minutes one or the other was popping their head in to ask a question. At one point, I heard a car drive by outside blasting Kansas' “Carry On My Wayward Son” (Dean used to sing that song out loud in the car... _stop thinking about it_ ) loud enough that the windows rattled. I ate lunch at my desk, if you could call picking at a salad “eating lunch,” and resumed dealing with the papers immediately after.

At 2:00, I had a school tour, and I knew it was going to take at least two people to corral the kids. At 1:45, I surrendered to the inevitable and ventured outside my office to the main display room, which was at least seventy-five feet wide and ringed with numerous displays on state history. There were two additional smaller rooms as well, one that held our aforementioned “City Government in Action” display and one which held a collection of artifacts dating back to before the Civil War. One of those artifacts I had always found particularly fascinating, a small revolver from the thirties with engraving on the wooden handle (it looked like something one of the boys might carry... _stop thinking about it_ ).

The kids were just as awful as imagined; even with the four teachers accompanying the group, Juanita and I had a terrible time controlling them. Fortunately, the only thing broken on this educational tour was one of our crowd control ropes, and I silently thanked whatever deity was looking down on me.

When I got home at six, I pulled into my parking space and trudged up the stairs, unlocking my door to be greeted by a hungry cat. I fed her quickly, then changed into my sweats, warmed up some leftover chicken parmesan (the first meal I ever cooked in the bunker... _stop thinking about it_ ), and ate it in front of the television.

I ended up sitting in front of the TV for two hours, staring blankly at whatever trashy reality show was one, until I caught myself nodding off. I yawned and stretched, then got off the couch and padded into my bedroom. I changed into my pajamas, then placed Emmy in the hallway and firmly closed the door on her yowls (apparently real cats were not as easy to sleep in the same bed with as skinwalker cats... _stop thinking about it_ ).

I slid under the covers, sighing as the soft cotton sheets embraced me, then turned my attention to the book on my nightstand. It was kind of trashy too, the latest Philippa Gregory novel, but I wasn't reading much academic material these days. When I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, I put the book down and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

I pulled the covers over my head, buried my face in the pillow, and said to myself... _now, you can think about it._

I cried myself to sleep that night, just like I'd done every night since leaving Kansas.


	14. Escape Attempts, Silent Treatment, and Men Who Won't Leave Me Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up - Kat's in a bad headspace for a lot of this chapter, and does some things that are manipulative and cruel. Don't give up on her just yet!

 

I unlocked the door of my apartment and pushed my way in, trying not to drop the armful of grocery bags as Emmy twined around my feet. “Munchkin,” I said, looking down, “you're gonna get stepped on here in a minute. You'd best move.” She meowed and didn't move, instead looking up at me hopefully.

I sighed, nudging her out of the way with my foot and dumping the bags on the kitchen counter. I'd almost accidentally killed this cat like five times because she'd walked under my feet. Apparently real cats were not very good at listening.

Once I'd gotten the groceries put away, I headed into the bedroom to change. I walked in and went straight for the closet, really wanting to take off my skirt and curl up in my sweatpants, but I froze when I heard the bedroom door slam.

I turned around slowly, and there was Dean Winchester, leaning against the doorframe. I rubbed my eyes and squinted. He was a hallucination, right? Brought on by – by overwork, and overtiredness, and maybe that pizza I'd eaten – well, picked at – for lunch had been off -

“Hello, kitten.”

I swallowed, trying to get some saliva into my suddenly dry mouth, and said, “Get out.”

“Aw, Kat. What kind of welcome is that?” he drawled. He strolled towards me, and I backed away, looking desperately around for an escape route. _A third story apartment is only safer than ground floor if you don't want people getting in, Kat. It doesn't leave you many places to run!_

“Please,” I said softly. “Please, just go away, and let me be normal.” My back hit the wall, and I closed my eyes and extended a trembling arm, waiting for him to yell, or grab me, or pick me up and carry me down the stairs to the Impala.

Instead, I felt his chest against my palm and gentle fingers lift my chin. “Not until you tell me why you left,” he said in that dark, soft tone that used to mean I was in for pain if I didn't answer him.

Suddenly, I was  _pissed._ I slapped his hand away and snarled, “I don't have to explain myself to you. Get the hell out of my apartment before I call the police.”

Dean slammed his hands against the wall beside my head. “How, exactly, are you going to do that? I'm not letting you go anywhere, kitten.” Then his eye was caught by my left arm, where a silver charm bracelet wrapped around my wrist. He pulled it up and examined the charms closely. “This is angel warding, isn't it? Is that how you hid from us?”

I didn't say anything, instead bringing my knee up between his spread legs, then jerking my arm away and darting around him when he hit the ground. I scooped Emmy up on my way out the door, bolting down the stairs and towards freedom.

Unfortunately, there was a six-foot-four plaid-wearing giant between me and the outside, and I ran right into him. Emmy hissed at the impact and climbed Sam like a tree, and while he was distracted by the eighteen sharp claws and innumerable teeth, I slid around him and kept going. She'd get loose, I'd find her later, it would be okay.

I got in my car, pulled the keys out of my cleavage, and started it. Nothing happened. I banged on the steering wheel in frustration. “No, no, no!” When it didn't start the third time I tried, I got out and bolted for the neighbors', a printing company's offices.

Three steps before their door, a hard arm grabbed me around the waist and pulled me over a shoulder. “No!” I screamed, pounding on Sam's back as he carried me back towards my apartment building. “Let me  _go,_ asshole!” When my fists had no effect, I leaned down a little further and bit him, right where his ribcage ended and there was some flesh to get my teeth into.

Sam swore and his grip loosened enough that I managed to roll off his shoulder and fall the six feet onto the ground. I was on my feet in a split second, sprinting for the office door again. I heard voices faintly behind me - “You  _dropped_ her?!” “She  _bit_ me!” - but I didn't care, because I had gotten my hand on the door and I was pulling it open -

Except I wasn't. It was locked. They were closed.  _Fuck!_ I started running again, this time aiming for the pharmacy across the street. They didn't keep normal business hours, they'd be open.

Once again, I was three steps from the door when an arm wrapped around my waist. Dean had me in a position where my feet hit nothing but air and I wasn't close enough to anything to bite it. My hands were free, but he was tall enough I couldn't reach his eyes to claw at them, and my body was blocking his chest from any attempt to elbow him in the solar plexus. I did manage to leave some bloody scratches on his neck, but it didn't dissuade him from hauling me away.

Dean wrestled me into the backseat of the Impala, slid in beside me, and slammed the door. Sam floored the gas and the car sped away, almost immediately going too fast for it to be safe for me to jump out. I considered it anyway, eyeing the door, until Dean clamped one handcuff around my wrist and the other around the door handle. “Don't even think about it,” he ordered, breathing hard, and ripped my charm bracelet off my other arm.

“Where's my cat?” I asked, my voice calm and even.

Sam and Dean exchanged a confused look. “Uh, actually, it's in the trunk.”

I listened hard, and sure enough, I heard furious meowing behind me. I sat back, put my hands in my lap, and stared out the window.

There was silence for a few minutes, then Dean said, “You don't weigh anything, you know that? Haven't you been eating?”

I ignored him, keeping my gaze locked on nothing outside the car. “So, why did you leave?” he asked. _Look at the pretty trees, Kat._

“Kat?” he prodded. “Hello?” When he continued to receive nothing but silence, he sighed in exasperation. “Really? The silent treatment? Are we kids?”

_I don't know, Dean, you're the one who wouldn't quit looking for a lost toy._ Finally, he gave up and lapsed into frustrated silence himself.

The drive that should have taken seventeen hours instead took closer to twelve, with Sam and Dean switching every three hours. The first time they switched, Sam got into the front passenger seat, and I was thankfully left by myself in the back for the rest of the trip. Dean took his frustration out on the road when he drove, always going at least forty over the speed limit, while Sam drove more sedately, keeping his acceleration to “reckless driving” rather than “attempted land speed record.” I looked out the window the whole time, not responding to any questions other than one regarding a bathroom, which I answered with a nod. At one point, during a break to stretch our legs, I stood by the trunk until Sam opened it to reveal Emmy asleep on top of a sawed off shotgun. I then got silently back into the car, held out my wrist for the cuff, and resumed my vigil.

When we reached the bunker, Dean opened my door and unlocked the cuffs. “Come with me,” he growled, and headed down the stairs. I didn't move until he rolled his eyes and added, “Sam'll get your cat.” I followed him quietly into the hallway leading into the bedrooms, and jumped when one of the doors slammed open.

“Dean?” Charlie called sleepily, stepping into the hall. “You know it's like 4 am, right?” She rubbed her eyes, then jerked her hands down and stared at me. “Kat? Oh my God, Kat!” She threw her arms around me and I let her, passively staring into space until she released me. “Where have you been? Why did you leave? We've been looking for _ages -_ ”

The flow of words stopped as she took in my disheveled business clothes, appalling hair, and tight face. “Kat?”

“She won't say anything,” Dean said in frustration. “The last thing she said was 'Where's my cat,' back in Georgia. Which, by the way, Sam is setting up in an empty bedroom.” I flicked my eyes up to meet his in acknowledgment, then turned back to looking into the middle distance.

He sighed and jerked me away from Charlie, towing me by my wrist to my old bedroom. He threw open the door, revealing the same generic room I had walked into over eighteen months ago, and led me over to the bed. He pushed me down on it, leading to a brief struggle before I realized he was just cuffing me to the bedframe, and let him do it.

Once he was done, he crouched down so he was at my eye level. “Kat,” he said softly, almost pleadingly, “please talk to me. Please tell me why you left.”

I bit back tears. It wasn't like he'd understand. Instead, I rolled over, presenting him with my back, and curled into the fetal position. I heard Dean give a heavy sigh, then rise and walk out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Only then did I give in, my shoulders shaking as I cried silently into the pillow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was woken up by Sam opening the door and setting a tray on the bed. “Dean says you can't leave this room,” he said flatly. I looked down at the tray and saw a sandwich, chips, and a bottle of water. I jingled the cuff, looking at Sam meaningfully. “Sorry,” he said in the same flat tone. “You want something, you have to ask for it.” He stood there and looked at me for a minute, but when I remained silent and looked back down, he spun on his heel and left.

Not like it mattered. I certainly wasn't hungry. I pushed the tray to the end of the bed with my foot and laid back down. What I really wanted was to go home, to go back to my normal life, to get away from these people who had made me love again.

_Momma always said I was more stubborn than a mule. Let's see if I can out-stubborn the Winchesters._

Days passed like this. Mercifully, the boys let me go to the bathroom without asking. I still refused to eat anything, but did drink the water that was brought three times a day by silent men. Charlie never came, but I figured they probably wouldn't let her. Idiots. I might actually talk to her.

I was lying on the bed one day, probably afternoon judging by the contents of the latest tray, when I heard faint voices outside my door.

“She's not eating, Dean!”

“I don't fucking care, I'm not letting her go!”

“She's going to starve herself to death if you don't _do_ something!”

“What should I do, huh, Sammy? What's your bright idea?”

Someone stomped down the hall, then I heard Dean swear and a thud against the wall of the hallway. There was a moment of silence, and then my door clicked open. Dean walked in and slid down the wall beside the bed until he was sitting on the floor. “Tell me what to do,” he said beseechingly. “Tell me what I have to do for you to eat, for you to talk, for you to – be!” I tried to ignore him, but when a tear ran down his face, my resolve snapped. I couldn't believe he was crying. I couldn't do it anymore.

He had buried his face in his knees when I coughed. His head shot up and I said, my voice harsh from disuse, “Charlie.”

He scrambled to his feet. “Charlie? You want Charlie? I can do that.” He bolted out the door, and I heard running footsteps pound down the hallway.

Barely a minute later, he was back, the redheaded hacker in tow. “Anything else?” he said anxiously as she sat down on the bed.

“Uncuff me?” I rasped, holding up my abraded wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he said, rushing over and unlocking the cuffs. He stood by the bed, waiting for something else.

“Leave,” I said, making shooing motions. His face fell, but he backed slowly out the door and shut it behind him.

The latch had barely clicked before I had buried my face in Charlie's shoulder and was sobbing, letting out the tears that I had been holding in since the first day I got to the bunker. She jumped, then wrapped her arms around me and rocked, whispering “Shhh. It's okay. I got you. Shhh. Breathe.”

I cried for what must have been hours, only stopping when my eyes were sore and Charlie's shirt was soaked through. When I finally stopped, hiccuping, she pulled gently away and gripped my shoulders. “Now, Kat, why did you leave? You asked for me, not Dean or Sam. What would you tell me you wouldn't tell them?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to steady myself enough to tell her what had happened. “You know – you know what happened with Jon and Rob, right? You know I have a terrible history with men.” She nodded, her face puzzled. “Well, I – shut down, after them. I wasn't letting anyone in, like at all. No friends, no lovers, nothing. Then Sam and Dean came along and tore my life apart, and I had to rely on them. Of course, that reliance soon turned to caring.” Charlie was still nodding. This was nothing she didn't already know. “Then came you, and Cas, and suddenly there were these four people in my life I cared about. I was coping, I was dealing with it, when Dean and I started sleeping together. Then everything just kind of – imploded. I didn't want – I didn't want to care, Charlie! It hurts too much to care! But then – then – oh God -” I started crying again, and Charlie hugged me to her.

I realized abruptly that I was thinner than she was, and a sharp laugh broke through the tears. “What?” she said, sitting back in alarm.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I just – you know I'm skinnier than you, now?” She stared at me in shock for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed, a full-on belly laugh. I started chuckling, then laughing, until finally we were both howling and holding our sides.

When the hysterical laughter finally subsided, I thought I was calm enough to finish the story. “So, um anyway – the reason I ran – I realized I was in love with Dean, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't risk the pain. I couldn't give anyone that power over me again.”

Charlie looked at me for a moment, then sighed and brushed a stray curl off my forehead. “I thought it might be something like that,” she said softly.

I stared at her in surprise. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. You're...skittish, for lack of a better word. You never express affection verbally, only physically, and I know the story of your depression and your past. That kind of adds up to – well, being terrified of love.” She sat back and looked at me. “Now. Dean is going to find this out in the next ten minutes. The only question is whether I tell him or you do.”

I froze in terror, then grabbed her wrist as she tried to get off the bed. “No, no, please don't tell him,” I begged. “I can't – I can't let him know. He'll laugh at me, or – or push me away, or -”

She sighed again and sat back down. “You know, as brilliant as you are, you're still a total idiot.”

I only gaped at her.  _What?_

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “He loves you too, moron, or he wouldn't have chased you across the country! Now, am I going to tell him, or am I going to bring him in here so you can tell him yourself?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to process what she had just said. I must have been doing a wonderful impression of a landed fish. Finally, I forced out, “Here. Bring him here.”

She nodded decisively and stood up, pulling her wrist out of my now-loose grip. “Okay. I'll be right back.”

After she had walked out, I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them tightly. My brain started whirling into its usual downward spiral, but short-circuited at the look on Dean's face when he opened the door. It was a cross between hope, and fear, and anger, and – something I couldn't define, something I couldn't dare hope was -

He sat down on the bed across from me. “Charlie said you wanted to talk to me,” he said gruffly.

I swallowed, trying to get my voice to work. “I, um, you asked why I left.” My voice was tiny.

He waited a moment, then said, “Yeah, I did. Are you gonna answer?”

I shrank back into the headboard and lowered my eyes, avoiding eye contact. “I – Dean, this is hard. Just let me get it out, okay?” He nodded, then sat there silently. I swallowed again, unable to keep saliva in my mouth. “You – you know about Jon, and Rob, and my history. You know I have a hard time with – emotions. I'm terrified of getting hurt every time I open up to someone, and -”

He burst out, “Is this about the BDSM stuff? I swear, I thought you were -”

“Dean, I fell in love with you!” I shouted, then coughed as the abuse of my voice caught in my throat. I looked down, whispering, “I'm still in love with you.”

There. It was out. It was done. I waited for him to laugh at me, to get up and leave, to tell me to get out, he was done.

Instead, there were a few moments of silence, and then a hand gently but implacably forcing my head up. When I looked at him, I was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “You stupid girl,” he said softly, “I love you too.”

_What? No. What?_ I shook my head, uncomprehending. “My God, is it so hard to believe someone would love you back? I am going to  _kill -_ ” he cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Katherine Elizabeth Whitaker. I love you. I'm not good at love; I don't even like the word, but I think I have loved you from the moment you punched me in the face for slapping your ass. Or from the moment you dropped a tent on me. Or hell, from the moment Sam pulled you, unconscious, out of the Impala. It doesn't matter when it happened, but I  _fell in love with you_ . All of you.” I must have still looked dumbfounded, because he huffed impatiently and pulled me into a kiss.

It was rough, and dry, and quite possibly the best kiss I'd ever had.  _He loves me. He loves me!_ When he pulled away, searching my eyes for some sort of understanding, I threw myself at him. We hit the bed laughing and kissing, hands all over each other, not for sex but just for the joy of touch.

I dimly head the door click open, then Sam ask, “What is – whoa. So...did you guys make up?”

Dean pulled his lips away from mine, not without some difficulty. “Uh, yeah. I think we did -” but then I flung myself at him again. I heard Sam laugh and shut the door, and then nothing mattered but Dean.

Some time later – it could have been minutes, hours, days – Dean struggled to push me away. “Okay. Okay! Kat! Food! Eat something!”

I sat back and considered. Yeah, I was definitely hungry. “Okay. Feed me.” I made grabby hands at him.

He laughed and shook his head. “You are so damn cute, you know that? It's not like I have a sandwich on me or anything. I didn't exactly expect to come in here, have an enormous emotional revelation, and then have to feed you. You're going to have to come to the kitchen.”

I gave a huge, put-upon sigh. “Fine. Lead the way. I shudder to think what kind of state the kitchen must be in.”

He kissed me on the forehead, then clambered off the bed and held a hand out to me. I took it and stood up, but then immediately sank back down, my head spinning. “Um. I think if I stand up, I might pass out.”

He looked alarmed. “Okay, yeah, I guess that makes sense. I'll carry you.” Before I could protest, point out that he could bring the food here,  _like they'd been doing for days_ , he had scooped me up and was striding out the door. “Jesus Christ, you don't weigh anything. Yeah, I'm going to be doing some serious high-calorie cooking for a while.” I rested my head on his shoulder and listened to him make meal plans until we entered the kitchen, at which point he set me gently down in a chair and went rummaging through the cabinets.

“Dean,” I said from my seat, “not too much. Some kind of broth or soup would probably be best.”

He looked back at me, then switched to a different cabinet. “Okay, I can do soup. Chicken noodle okay?” I considered, then nodded. The processed carbs weren't great, but the chicken broth, vegetables and meat would be good.

He pulled a can of Campbell's out of the cabinet and dumped it into a pot, added the necessary water, and set it on the stove. Then he looked at the can and made a face. “Urgh. Always reminds me of dear old granddad.” He pitched it in the trash, then started stirring the soup.

One of the great things about Campbell's, despite its unfortunate name, is that it's ready in like five minutes. Dean poured the soup into a bowl, grabbed a spoon out of a drawer, then set it in front of me with a flourish. I laughed at him and took a cautious sip of the soup.  _Oh my God._ _This is fucking delicious_ . Before I knew it, I had eaten half the bowl, and my stomach was threatening to rebel.

I shoved the bowl away, and Dean looked at me in disappointment. “That's it?”

“Dean,” I said, “if I eat any more I'm gonna puke, and then you'll be sorry.”

“Okay,” he sighed, and went to cover the bowl and stick it in the fridge.

I rolled my eyes. “I did a bout with anorexia, Dean. Mild compared to some, but I know how to feed someone that hasn't eaten in – wait. How long has it been since I've eaten?”

“Four, maybe five days, I think,” he replied, coming back over and sitting in a chair across from me.

I laughed dryly. “Well, it's not a record; I went eight days once when I was sick.”

Dean sighed, reaching over the table to touch my face. “There's still so much I don't know about you.”

“Same here, buddy! Like, okay, I know it's touchy, but literally all I know about the Campbells is that they were your mother's parents and they were hunters. Where are they now? Why don't you talk to them?”

Dean's face tightened a bit, then relaxed. “They're all dead. While I thought Sam was in Hell, he was actually soulless and hunting with four cousins and our grandfather, Samuel. We worked with them some that year, but eventually realized Samuel was working with Crowley, and it just kind of all went downhill from there. There were some vampires, an encounter with a Khan worm, and then a lot of bodies. Neither Sam or I like talking about that year, because he remembers being in Hell, and I remember him being – well, a monster.”

_Ooookay._ I filed that whole can of worms away under “ask about when I can stand up by myself.”

I suddenly became aware that I was still wearing the same clothes Sam and Dean had kidnapped me in. “Um, did y'all think to grab, like, clothes and stuff for me? I know I took everything I had here with me.”

Dean looked uncomfortable. “No, we didn't get clothes. There was a kicking, clawing, biting creature attacking us.” I waited for it, and sure enough, he grinned at me and added, “And also her cat.”

I managed to reach over the table to smack him. “Shut up! You were kidnapping me!” Then something he'd said hit me. “Speaking of, where's Emmy?”

“Oh! She's in one of the spare bedrooms. There's a litterbox, and even a few cat toys, don't ask me where they came from.”

I hated to have to ask for him this and not just be able to go on my own. “Can you take me to see her?”

He frowned at me in mock disapproval. “I don't know. Do you promise to shower and change clothes afterwards?”

“Yes sir, I promise,” I replied, looking up at him through my eyelashes. I was rewarded with blown pupils and a full-body shudder before he regained control of himself and glared at me.

“Don't do that,” he ordered.

“Don't do what, sir?” I purred.

“That! With the sir, and the voice, and the look! Stop! No sex until you've gained at least ten pounds!”

I slumped back in my chair and pouted. “Hey, at least it's an incentive, right?” he pointed out.

He was right. I didn't really want to sleep with him right now anyway, I was too tired and sick-feeling; I just wanted to make him uncomfortable for a minute.

“Right,” I sighed, then perked up. “Kitty?”

“Yes, okay, fine,” he laughed. “Miss one-track-mind.” He got up and picked me up out of my chair, carrying me out of the kitchen and to one of the spare bedrooms. “Is it okay if I set you down for a minute?” he asked anxiously. “I don't think I can open the door carefully enough, otherwise.”

I thought about it, then nodded. He carefully set me on my feet, then opened the door just a crack. I heard plaintive meowing, and before he could stop me, I had shouldered my way into the room and plopped down on the floor. Emmy immediately crawled into my lap, purring and rubbing her face against me. “Hi there,” I crooned. “Who's a good kitty? You are! Yes you are!” I held her close to me, delighting in her warmth and soft rumbling, until she meowed unhappily and squirmed in my grip.

I heard a snort, and looked up to see Dean standing by the door with a faintly disgusted look on his face. “I can't believe I'm jealous of a cat,” he muttered. Then he held out his hand. “Come on, you promised me you'd shower and change.”

I reluctantly let Emmy go, and clambered up from my position on the floor. I wobbled a bit as I stood on two feet, and Dean had me up in his arms before I could even try to get my balance. “Didn't even give me a  _chance_ ,” I groused as he shut the door behind us and headed for his bedroom. Then I had an idea. “Dean, since I'm having a hard time standing up, why don't we go to my room instead, where there's a tub?”

He actually stopped dead in the hallway, and brought an arm around me to smack himself on the forehead. “Why didn't I think of that?”

I laughed, and shook my head in mock despair. “It took me one and a half doctorates and a master's degree to get this smart, you know,” I joked. He rolled his eyes at me, then carried me through the open door of my bedroom and carefully set me down on the bed.

“I'm gonna go get the water started, okay?” he said, then headed into the bathroom. A second later, I heard the water start to run, and I started struggling out of my shirt. I hadn't even gotten one arm out of the sleeve before he was there, gently moving my arm and tugging on the sleeve.

“Dean,” I said in exasperation. “I can take my own clothes off.”

“Don't care,” he replied, working at the other sleeve, then pulling the shirt off over my head.

“You can't baby me forever, you know,” I complained. _This could get real old, real quick._

He looked up at me from his position at the fastenings of my skirt. “Not forever,” he said. “Just – until you're better.”

“So, basically, until we have a screaming match about how I'm a big girl and can take care of myself,” I said sarcastically.

He grinned at me. “Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed cheerfully. I rolled my eyes, then closed them and flopped backwards on the bed as he pulled my skirt off, quickly followed by my underwear.

My eyes shot open, however, when I felt him climb on the bed with me. “What are you doing?” I asked in confusion.  _He's the one who said no sex!_

He gestured at my chest. “You're still wearing a bra, and you were up here, so I had to come up here to take it off.”

_Oh_ . “Okay,” I sighed, closing my eyes again and relaxing into the familiar feeling of Dean's hands unfastening and stripping off my bra. The mattress moved as he got back off, then he slid one arm under my knees and one under my shoulders, carrying me into the bathroom.

I felt him kneel, then slowly lower me into the hot water. It felt...delicious, actually, and suddenly every part of me not under water was itching with the need to be clean. I pulled my eyes open just in time to see him pour bodywash onto a washcloth. “Hang on,” I said, “that's my brand. Where did you get that?”

He blushed slightly and said, “It was in my shower when you left.”

“So you kept it? For eight months?”

Now he was really blushing. “Yeah. Shut up and let me wash you.”

“No.” I'd had enough and snapped my fingers at him. “Give me the washcloth.” He hesitated. “Washcloth, Dean, or we're having that screaming match right now.”

He reluctantly handed me the cloth, and I wasted no time in scrubbing it over filthy skin. When I reached my legs, I grimaced. “Ugh. Don't suppose you'd let me have a razor.”

“Not a chance,” he said. “Not until your hands are steadier.” I sighed and continued washing.

Once I'd finished removing the top layer of skin, I laid the square of terrycloth over the side of the tub and started fumbling at my hair. It had been pulled up into a bun the entire time I'd been here, and the hair ties I'd used were probably melded with my hair by now. When I finally got them out and shook my head, I sighed happily as the heavy auburn mass fell to my shoulders and took the pressure off my neck.

I had almost forgotten about Dean until I heard his voice rumble from the side of the tub, “Did you cut your hair, kitten?”

I looked at him defiantly. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I'll do it again, too, if I want to.” He took a deep breath, obviously getting ready to argue with me, then thought better of it and subsided.

I returned my attention to my hair, trying to get the tangles out, until Dean said, “Stop. Let me.” I was getting tired now, and I didn't argue as he unhooked the detachable shower head and let it dangle down the wall. He had shampoo and conditioner, which I assumed was Charlie's, set at the side of the tub, and he squirted some into his hand. When those fingers started massaging the soap into my hair, I moaned and almost melted. _Soooo gooood..._

By the time he was done washing, rinsing, and conditioning my hair, I was a puddle of goo. I heard him remove the plug from the bottom of the tub, and the water started to swirl away. Before it was gone, he lifted me out of the tub, and I whined and started to shiver as the cold air hit my skin. “Can you stand up?” he asked softly, and I nodded reluctantly.

Dean set me on my feet, and I leaned against the wall as he dried me off. When he went to do my hair, though, I lifted a hand. “No, let me brush it first,” I said. “Otherwise it'll be one big knot.”

He frowned, then threw a towel over the toilet lid and gestured to it. I shuffled over and sat, holding my hand out for the brush (which was probably also Charlie's), but he didn't give it to me. Instead, he carefully combed my wet hair with his fingers first, then gently slid the brush through the auburn locks. Every time he hit a knot, he'd gingerly disentangle the brush, then work the knot out with his fingers before resuming. I almost fell asleep with his hands in my hair, the only thing stopping me the persistent shivering.

When I got the feeling that my hair was detangled, and Dean was just brushing it for pleasure, I reached back and snagged his wrist. “Dean, I'm c-c-cold,” I stammered.

“I'm sorry!” he said, dropping the brush immediately. I stood up and managed to walk into the bedroom, where there was one of his t-shirts and a pair of knit shorts (also presumably Charlie's, since I'd cleaned all my stuff out. Note to self: buy Charlie new things) laid out on the bed.

_Wait._ “Dean, where did these come from?” I asked, turning to look up at him. “I know they weren't there before I got in the tub.”

He chuckled, then said, “I grabbed them while you were taking off a layer of skin with that washcloth, kitten. You were pretty focused.”

_Oh._ Well, that was okay then. I sat on the edge of the bed and let Dean dress me in his t-shirt, then laid down, closed my eyes, and waited for him to put the shorts on me.

Once I was dressed, I wiggled around until my head was on the pillow and said, “I'm about to pass out, honey. Are you coming to bed?”

I heard his sharp intake of breath, and then he said, “I wasn't sure – I mean -”

I drowsily opened my eyes and gestured towards the empty half of the bed. “You're an idiot. Lie down.” In about five seconds, Dean was pressed against my back with his arm draped over my waist, pulling the covers up over both of us. “You're gonna have wet hair in your face all night, you stay there.”

“Don't care,” he said into my neck. Then, much more softly, he said, “I love you.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I replied, equally softly, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Kat's little stunt with the not eating and not speaking is actually something I pulled on my ex several years ago. It's very effective in getting what you want. However, note that he is now an 'ex.'


	15. Apologies, the Darkness, and Men Who Might Forgive Me

When I woke up I was starving and I had to pee, but Dean had turned into an octopus overnight and I couldn't figure out how to get loose. I tried moving his arm, kicking his leg away, but they always came back and gripped tighter.

Finally, I gave up and pushed an elbow into his gut. He jerked, but then tried to cuddle me closer. “Dean!” I said in exasperation. “Let go of me!”

“Uh-uh,” he said, readjusting his grip on my waist.

“Dean, seriously, I have to go to the bathroom. Let go!” He groaned, but moved his arm and leg away and flopped over onto his back.

I managed to get out of the bed and into the bathroom with minimal staggering, which was good because Dean had gone back to sleep. When I got back into the bedroom, I stood by the side of the bed with my hands on my hips and sighed. I was really hungry, but I didn't want to wake Dean up. _Can I get to the kitchen by myself?_ I decided I probably could, if I moved slowly and stayed near a wall at all times.

I made it to the kitchen eventually, although I had to stop and lean against a wall twice to let my head quit spinning. When I walked through the door, I saw Sam sitting at the table with an empty bowl and his laptop. “Morning, Sam,” I said, shuffling towards the cabinet that used to hold the cereal. “Is the cereal still in here?”

He looked up and said, “Yeah, it is. We don't have your brand anymore, though.”

I shrugged and opened the cabinet. “I didn't figure you would.” I saw a box of granola, which was probably Sam's, and checked the protein content. It would work. “Sam, do you mind if...”

When I turned around, he was gone. He'd picked up his laptop, quietly put his bowl in the sink, and disappeared. I frowned. _Okay, weird._

I decided against the granola and instead went with some sort of off-brand Raisin Bran, which I knew no one ate. Maybe Cas? _Angels don't eat, do they?_ Anyway, it had the raisins and nut clusters plus the bran flakes, so with milk it would be okay for me to eat.

I managed to put together a bowl of cereal and was about halfway through it when I heard running footsteps coming down the hallway. I looked up, startled, as Dean burst through the doorway.

“Oh my God, you're still here,” he panted. “I woke up and you were gone and I thought you'd left again and -”

I held up a hand. “Whoa! Didn't go anywhere! Not going anywhere! I was hungry, you were asleep, so I got up and made myself breakfast.”

He looked at my bowl of cereal and frowned. “Are you sure that's okay? Is it gonna make you sick?”

I shrugged. “So far, so good. And it tastes amazing, for some reason. Much better than Raisin Bran has any right to taste.”

Dean sat down next to me and picked up the box. “Huh. I think this is one of Cas' things, since he's decided he likes eating now. I know me and Sam don't eat it, and I kinda doubt Charlie does.” Then it was like something clicked, and he turned and glared at me. “You walked all the way here? Then made yourself cereal? You could have – have passed out on the way and hit your head or something!”

I rolled my eyes. “But I didn't, did I? No. Instead, I'm sitting at the table, unharmed, eating cereal. Calm down, honey.”

His face softened, and he pecked me on the cheek. “I missed you calling me 'honey.'” He got up and poured himself a bowl of cereal, then started eating it like he hadn't eaten in months.

I blushed and returned to my cereal, trying to eat slowly so as not to make myself sick. I finished the bowl without feeling nauseated, but decided it was probably best not to tax my stomach any more right now. I shoved the bowl away when it was empty, and Dean picked it up and took our dishes to the sink.

I stood up, ready to head back towards the bedroom, but I hadn't gotten more than two steps towards the door before Dean had picked me up and was carrying me. I rolled my eyes and sagged against him. “Really? I just proved I can walk here on an empty stomach, and now that I feel better, you're going to carry me?”

“Yep,” he said, and kept walking.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” I inquired.

“Well,” he replied, “I was planning on putting you back in my bed, then giving you a book and lying next to you while you read.”

I giggled. “Cause that's not creepy at all. Look, I'm not opposed to that, but Emmy isn't used to being locked up in one room with no company. Can I -”

Dean interrupted. “No. No matter how much I care about you, there will be no cats in my bedroom.”

I shrugged. “Okay, fine. Take me to mine, then bring me my cat, a book, and some tea. I'll be in librarian heaven.”

Dean hesitated, then answered, “Only if you move into my bed tonight and leave her there.”

I considered. “Deal. But you'll have to move the litterbox to my room, or we'll have some problems.”

He sighed, but nodded in agreement and pushed open my bedroom door. He deposited me on the bed, then said, “Stay there. I'll be back in like a minute with your cat, two minutes with a book, and five with some tea.”

He was true to his word, and within five minutes I had a mug of steaming herbal tea, a copy of Edmo's “History and Culture of the Boise Shoshone and Bannock Indians,” and a purring cat on my lap. I also had a gorgeous man next to me who seemed content to do nothing but lie there with his head on my thigh. I wiggled down a bit further, so that Dean's head was resting on my hip and my head was more or less propped up by pillows, and tried to concentrate on my book. It was actually quite interesting, tribes I hadn't really studied during my academic career, since I'd focused largely on Eastern...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I woke up, Dean was sound asleep on his back next to me, and Emmy was curled up on his chest. I suppressed a giggle, and wished I had my phone to get a picture.

_Speaking of my phone..._ I wondered if they'd let me go back to my apartment to get my clothes and the rest of my things. I really didn't want to have to buy another whole new wardrobe. Plus...I had kept that lingerie I'd bought for Dean...

Like thinking about the underwear had woken him up, Dean's eyes slowly opened. He yawned, stretched, then looked down at his chest and frowned. “Kat, your cat is asleep on me.”

I giggled. “Yes she is, and it's absolutely adorable. I wish I had my phone to take a picture.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, adorable it may be, but get her off me.”

I sighed, then carefully lifted Emmy off Dean's chest. She made an unhappy sound, then curled up in my arms and started purring. I started scratching her ears, muttering soft little “who's a kitty”s and “good girl”s under my breath. I didn't even realize Dean had moved until he was standing on my side of the bed.

“Come on,” he said, “put the cat down. You need to eat again.”

“But I'm not hungry!” I said.

“Don't care. Ten pounds, remember?”

I blew out a breath. “Fine. Will you let me walk this time?”

His eyes narrowed. “I guess. But the second I see you wobble, I'm picking you up.”

“Agreed,” I replied, then clambered off the bed. I walked out the door and headed purposefully for the kitchen, leaving Dean scrambling to catch up. Apparently he wasn't expecting me to move that fast.

After we hit the kitchen, he handed me half a ham sandwich and stood over me until I ate it. Once I'd finished, complaining the entire time, he scooped me up out of the chair and carried me back to my bedroom.

He deposited me on my bed, narrowly missing Emmy, who yowled indignantly and jumped down. Dean watched her disappear under the dresser, then sat down next to me. He extended his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and looked at me expectantly.

“What?” I said, looking back at him in confusion.

“I was expecting a lecture on how you can walk, you don't need me to carry you,” he said.

_Oh_ . I hadn't really thought about it. “It just...felt nice, I guess,” I replied, blushing a little. He smirked at me in self-satisfaction.

Maybe this was a good time to bring up going back to get my things. “Dean,” I said tentatively, “will you take me back to my apartment?”

His face darkened, and I could see anger and hurt in his eyes.  _Why is he...Oh!_ “No, no! Not to stay! I want to get my clothes, and books, and Emmy's stuff, since we're staying here.”

He relaxed, and said, “I don't see why not, but it'll have to wait a little bit. I want you to be at full strength before I take you anywhere.”

“So...I'm stuck wearing your and Charlie's clothes?”

He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I like seeing you in my clothes. It reminds me of other times you've worn them. Like the first time we slept together.” I actually saw his pupils dilate as he remembered, but then he shook his head and muttered “Ten pounds.”

I pouted at him. “But, Dean, ten pounds could take  _weeks!_ ” His tongue slipped out and ran across his bottom lip, the same one I was sticking out at him, and suddenly I couldn't resist kissing it. I rolled over so that I was lying on top of him and carefully fitted my lips to his, willingly opening my mouth when his tongue asked for entrance.

I still wasn't entirely sure I felt well enough for sex, but when I shifted against him and felt his hardness against my belly, my mind was abruptly made up. I wiggled again, more deliberately this time, and was rewarded with a groan into my mouth. I ran my hands over Dean's biceps, enjoying the feel of the hard muscle, and responded to his groan with a sigh of my own.

Suddenly, Dean wrenched his mouth away from mine. “No, kitten. Not yet. You need to -” he broke off and swore as I nipped at the soft spot just behind his ear that always drove him crazy. His hands came up, seemingly of their own volition, and ran over my back and ass as he attacked my mouth again. I writhed against him, my own arousal growing, and really wanting to touch him.

However, when I reached for the button of his pants, he stopped kissing me and pushed my hands away. “No,” he said, attempting to be stern. “You have to gain some weight and be healthier before we do this.”

I sensed he was determined this time and sat back with a sigh, only grinding my ass against his cock a little bit as I swung my leg back over his waist and flopped down next to him. My sex was throbbing, and I  _really_ wanted him to touch me.  _Oh well_ . If he wouldn't get me off, I'd do it myself.

Dean's arm was thrown over his eyes, and he was clearly struggling not to put his hands on either me or himself. I grinned internally and slowly slid my fingers into my shorts, sighing as my thumb slipped over my slick clit. I set up a lazy rhythm, rubbing circles around the hardened nub, and gasping when I managed to hit a particularly sensitive spot.

“What do you think you're doing, kitten?” Dean's gravelly voice came from my left, and I turned my head to make eye contact.

“What does it – _ah –_ look like I'm doing?” I replied, closing my eyes and inhaling sharply as I slid two fingers into my entrance. “You wouldn't – _fuck_ – touch me, so I'm doing it myself.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a growl as Dean ripped my fingers away from my sex. His big hand slid down my shorts and took their place, two fingers sliding into me while his thumb expertly massaged my clit. “I told you,” he said, his breath hot against my ear, “no sex until you're better. But apparently, you either can't or won't listen.” I ground into his hand, barely hearing him, focused instead on the sensations between my legs that I hadn't felt in far too long.

“Since,” he continued, “you seem to have so much trouble listening, and you've teased me into doing _this -_ ” he slammed his fingers into me and I yelped in pleasure-pain, “I think, once you've gained some weight and gotten healthier, you'll need to be punished for ignoring me.”

The sound of his husky voice promising punishment combined with his thumb suddenly pressing hard on my clit sent me flying over the edge into orgasm, trembling and moaning as he gently worked me down.

Once I was done, lying replete on the mattress, I remembered that he hadn't gotten off yet. I reached for his pants again, trying to unfasten them, but he slapped my hands away. “No,” he said firmly. “You don't get to touch. What you get to do, is take off your shirt and lay there.”

Confused, I nevertheless did as he said, pulling the t-shirt over my head and lying back down. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his cock, which was red and leaking copious amounts of precome. “Now,” he said, slowly running his hand up and down the shaft, “are you going to keep your hands to yourself, or am I going to have to get the handcuffs?”

“I won't touch, sir,” I replied softly, and the use of the honorific made him shudder and more precome drip down his dick.

“Good girl,” he said, then straddled my hips. I struggled to keep my hands on the mattress; that glorious cock was _right there_ and I hadn't so much as seen one since I'd left.

Dean began slowly stroking himself, moving his hand up and down his length, running a thumb over the head on every stroke, while I watched every movement. After a few minutes he started panting, his strokes getting faster and less precise, and his hips began to stutter into his fist. He gritted his teeth and fucked into his hand harder and harder, until his body abruptly tensed and he shot white ropes of come onto my belly and breasts, groaning through his clenched teeth as he rubbed himself through his climax.

When he was done, he rolled off of me and collapsed onto the mattress.  _Um, covered in your mess here._ I cleared my throat meaningfully, and he opened one eye to squint at me. I looked pointedly down at my chest, and he chuckled. “You have no idea how good you look like that. I'm tempted to leave you there,” he said, voice full of gravel.

When I made a little indignant sound, though, he sighed and got up, returning with a damp cloth and cleaning me off. He tossed the cloth on the floor, then laid back down next to me as I pulled my shirt back on. “Look,” he said seriously, “I really don't think it's a good idea for you to exert yourself like that.”

I gaped at him.  _An orgasm is exertion?_ Then I thought about it. My pulse was faster, my breathing sped up, my muscles tensed...okay, maybe it was a little bit of exertion.

I looked down. “I'm sorry,” I said quietly. “It's just – you were right there, and I haven't – not since I left.” I knew better than to expect any such thing from him, but I simply hadn't had the inclination to go out and pick up some random guy.

“Me neither,” he replied – _what?!_ \- “but I would prefer you get better faster, so I can have my way with you sooner.” He waggled his eyebrows ridiculously, then got serious again. “I'm worried that if we keep doing this, it'll take longer for you to get better, and then it'll turn into some vicious cycle.”

I sighed. I knew he was probably right. “Dammit, you're right,” I mumbled. “Fine. But the minute I say I'm okay, you'd better believe me. Deal?”

He thought about it for a minute, then shook his head. “No. We need an impartial observer. When Cas says you're better, you're better.”

I rolled my eyes and slumped into the pillows. “Ugh. Fine.”

We laid there in silence for a minute, and then I decided to ask him something that had been bothering me since I saw him in my apartment. “Dean, how did you find me? I was so careful. I emptied Tamara Davis' bank account here in town, took it all in cash, sold the car in Arkansas, and paid cash for a new one. I warded against angels on the new car and apartment, and once I got settled, I wore that bracelet...I even trashed my phone and laptop and bought new ones before I hit Georgia.”

“Well, there were a few things,” Dean said. “First, obviously, we asked Cas to find you, and that didn't work out because of that bracelet. So next we went old school, and used our knowledge of you and your personality to narrow down the possibilities. I figured you'd probably go back to the South. That knocked our possible states down to eleven or twelve. Then we did track your phone, and it was in Mississippi, although you weren't. That meant you hadn't gone very far north at all, bringing our search down to Alabama, Louisiana, Georgia, Tennessee, and Florida. I had Charlie check for your hacks, knowing you'd somehow set yourself up a new identity, but she couldn't find anything – good job, by the way. She eventually set up this huge program that tracked several things in those states – new bank accounts opened under female names, new female employees in your field, new apartment rentals under female names, subscriptions to journals you might like, purchases of books you might want, along with several other things, including -” he grinned, “- cat adoptions. Essentially, as far as I understand it, the program cross-referenced all these things together, and if it found the same name repeated enough times, it would let us know. We had a couple of false alarms, of course.” He grimaced. “There was one little old guy named Leslie who almost beat Sam unconscious with his cane. But then Anne Meyers popped up, and I think you know the rest.”

I smiled. “Yeah, you scared me half to death and kidnapped me.”

“I prefer to think of it as strategic asset recovery,” Dean said, winking.

I pretended indignation. “Oh, so I'm an asset, huh? That's the only reason you came after me? Hmph.”

Dean's eyes softened. “A vital asset, because I was definitely off my game while you were gone.”

I blushed and smacked his shoulder. “Don't be sappy. You don't do sappy.” Then something occurred to me. “Dean, why didn't you have Charlie check the DMV photos of these people before you went looking for them?”

Dean looked stunned. “I – don't know. No one thought of that.”

I burst into laughter at the nonplussed look on his face. “Man, you could have saved Sam a lot of pain.”

He laughed along with me. “Babe, that guy was vicious. He was all of five feet tall and he was just laying into Sam, and poor Sammy was trying to get the cane away from him without hurting him...and I was no help because I was standing by the door laughing. It took Sam a week or so to forgive me for that one.”

As our laughter trailed off, I asked, “What was his name? Where was he? That name and description sounds kind of familiar.”

Dean replied, “South Carolina, I think. Leslie...Frieser, maybe?”

I started cackling again, hard enough I could barely breathe. “What?” Dean demanded. “What's funny?”

I gasped out between giggles, “He was one of my professors for my first doctorate. Oh my God, that sounds just like him!” I mimed beating someone with a cane, then covered my face and howled with laughter.

Dean snickered. “I'm pretty sure Sam didn't find it as funny as you do.”

As I calmed down, I rolled over and laid my head on his chest. “Dean,” I said softly, “thank you for bringing me back.”

He ran his hand through my hair. “I will never let you go,” he whispered into the top of my head. “Ever.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We continued in this vein for about a week, Dean feeding me every chance he got, me reading everything I could get my hands on, and Charlie occasionally popping in and insisting on watching TV with us. Cas would show up when Dean called, check me over, then shake his head and disappear. That left me incredibly frustrated, because I felt much better and really wanted to go get my things from Georgia (not to mention jump Dean). The boys didn't get called out on a case during that time, and I knew they weren't really looking for them. There was just one problem.

Sam was avoiding me.

I could barely walk into a room before he was gone, spouting some flimsy excuse about a headache or needing to do research. I bought it the first few times, but when he had four different “headaches” one day, I started to get upset.

Eventually I asked Dean about it, while we were cuddling on the bed ( _such_ a cuddler. Who knew?). He looked at me sadly, then replied, “You didn't just run away from me, kitten. You ran away from Sam and Charlie and Cas too. Charlie doesn't seem to be holding a grudge, and Cas is, well, Cas, but Sam...Sam's pissed.”

I sighed. _I should've seen this coming._ “Damn,” I muttered. “I guess I can't blame him.” I looked up at Dean. “I've never really seen Sam angry, like, slow burn angry. Is this something I need to wait out, or should I corner him and make him talk to me?”

Dean thought for a minute. “I dunno. I always corner him and yell at him, but that usually ends up with me getting punched.”

I winced. “Um, not interested in getting punched, thanks. Maybe if I didn't yell at him?”

Dean shrugged. “Up to you. He won't hit you, anyway. He has a thing about hitting girls. Well, human girls.”

I grinned at him. “A problem you don't have, right?” Then I pulled my shoulders back. “Well, wish me luck.” I kissed him on the cheek and hopped off the bed.

Dean sat up and looked alarmed. “You're going now? But Cas says you aren't well yet, and maybe you shouldn't provoke Sam into a – a confrontation until -”

I smiled. “Dean, I assume he cares about me if he's this upset. I really think he'll listen.”

Dean was still tense. “You go do whatever you're going to do, but I'm just not sure it's the best idea.”

I rolled my eyes at him, then took a deep breath and headed towards Sam's room, where he seemed to be spending most of his time these days. I knocked tentatively on the door, and when his deep voice called “Come in,” I slipped inside.

He immediately sat straight up on his bed. “Uh, hi, Kat. Did you need something?”

“You're avoiding me,” I said bluntly.

Sam looked down and stammered, “Ah, no, no, I'm not, I'm just -”

“Having a lot of headaches these days? Doing research for cases that don't exist? Seizing any excuse to make sure you're never in a room with me for more than sixty seconds?” I watched his face carefully. I was deliberately provoking him, trying to get him to say what he'd wanted to say since – well, probably since I'd bitten him in Georgia.

It wasn't working. “I mean, yeah, I've been busy, but I'm not _avoiding_ you.” He added a little fake laugh at the end of that sentence, and the fiery temper that had come with my hair flared up.

“Really? I call bullshit. You're running away from me, Sam.” I sneered, my tone one I'd never taken with either of the boys before. I was good at finding people's pressure points, and Sam was about to find out how good. “What, are you pissed that you couldn't find me? That I was smarter than you and you couldn't track me? That I hurt you and got away in Georgia? Or are you pissed you cared and it backfired on you? That your little _feelings_ got hurt? Guess what, Winchester, I can't say I'm real happy about you _hiding_ from me!”

I blinked, and Sam went from sitting tensely on his bed to being three inches away from me with his fists clenched. “ _You_ left, Kat,” he snarled. “You _left_ , in the middle of the night, with no warning and no explanation. Dean might be the one who's in love with you, but do you think the rest of us don't fucking _care_? You didn't just leave Dean! You left me, and Charlie, and Cas, too! Did you even think about us, or was it all about running from your feelings for Dean? And then when you got here, you decided to _starve_ yourself, to – to manipulate us into doing what you wanted!”

“Of course I thought about you!” I yelled back, refusing to be intimidated by him looming over me. “You think it was just Dean I was running from? You and Charlie and Cas made me love you too! I had to get away from all of it! It was building and building until I realized I was in love with Dean and I just – snapped! You knew I was screwed up from about twenty-four hours after you brought me into this bunker; did you think Cas magically fixed it all? I can't _be_ fixed, Sam! You can use all the glue and tape and wishful thinking you want, but that is never gonna change! I'm fucking _broken_!”

Sam just stared at me in shock.

The anger drained out of me almost as quickly as it had arrived, and I laughed bitterly. “Dean was right,” I muttered. “This was a bad idea.” I turned to walk out of the room, but Sam grabbed my wrist. “What?” I snapped, turning around and jerking on my arm.

Instead of letting go, Sam pulled me towards him. “Yeah, I was pissed. I still am, some, especially about how manipulative you've been. But I really thought that you had left Dean without even thinking about the rest of us,” he murmured to the top of my head. “It's not like Dean and I are good at feelings, either. Hell,” he chuckled a little, “we're just as broken as you, if not more. You just waltzed in, like Charlie and Cas did, and made us care about _you,_ too. Caring about people except each other is – is not our strong suit, and we both reacted badly. Dean went all obsessive, and I got really, really pissed.”

I looked up at him with a slight smile. “I would like to point out, in my defense, that I did not waltz anywhere. I was literally dragged kicking and screaming into this.”

Sam took a step back. “Fair enough. But you have _got_ to stop trying to push people's buttons to get your way, okay? Dean – he adores you, and the rest of us do too, but there are better ways to deal with your issues than crying or running every time something goes wrong.”

I started to bristle again, irritated that he was talking to me like a spoiled teenager, but then I thought about it for a minute. _He's right. Oh my God, he's right._ That was exactly what I'd been doing, and I was about a decade too old for that behavior to be acceptable in any way. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “Okay. You're right. I'll try to be more conscious of what I'm doing and saying. But – Sam, it's gonna be hard. I'm not – I don't – I haven't had close friends in a very long time.”

Sam thought for a moment. “How's this: I catch you acting bratty, I'll let you know, ok? Subtly. A look, a cleared throat, something, and you think twice about what you're getting ready to do or say. Deal?”

I smiled at him and said softly. “Yeah. Deal. Thank you, Sam.”

Thankfully, Sam broke the mood and rolled his eyes. “So are we gonna have this chick flick moment and hug it out, or what?”

As I wrapped my arms around his waist, I said softly into his chest, “Sam, I'm sorry.”

He kissed the top of my head. “It's okay. I do understand. I've done something similar. The leaving, I mean.”

I was glad my face was buried in his shirt, because otherwise my expression of shock would have been clearly visible. _Something similar? Sam Winchester, one day I'm going to get you drunk and pry that story out of you._

When I got back to Dean's room, I had a grin on my face the size of Texas. “So, I'm guessing it went well, then,” Dean said from his place on the bed, “since I didn't hear any terrified screams or loud thuds.”

“Well,” I said, “I'm pretty sure that if there had been terrified screams, they would have come from Sam. After he denied avoiding me, I may have gotten a bit...vicious.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You? Vicious? Never.”

I crawled onto the bed and smacked his chest. “Shut up, or you'll find out how vicious I can be.” I nipped threateningly at his pectoral to illustrate my point.

He rolled over and pinned me to the bed, biting me where my neck joined my shoulder, and I sucked in a breath as arousal tore a hot path through me. When I looked up at him, his pupils were dilated and his breathing was harsh, his actions obviously affecting him just as much as me. He bent down and put his mouth on my shoulder again, this time gently sucking and nipping, and I moaned and wound my fingers into his hair to keep him there. He started working his way down, kissing along the neckline of my oversized t-shirt, and I arched my back to give him better access to my chest.

Just as he mouthed a nipple through the fabric, my mind caught up to my body. “Shit! Shit, Dean, stop,” I mumbled, trying halfheartedly to push him away.

He gave a muffled growl and I hissed at the vibrations. “Why?”

“'Cause – _fuck –_ you said,” I managed to gasp out. “Bad for me.”

His mouth stilled against my breast, and he gave a wholehearted groan before rolling off me and flopping down on his back. “I'm gonna die,” he informed the ceiling. “I might actually explode from having you so close all the time and not being able to touch you.” Then he turned onto his side and glared at me. “And you! You keep wearing my clothes, and my bed smells like you, and it's driving me _crazy_!”

“That's not my fault!” I pointed out indignantly. “You won't let me sleep anywhere else! And I don't have any other clothes! They're all in Georgia!”

Dean grumbled incoherently for a moment, then yelled “CAS!”

A few seconds and a flutter of wings later, there was an angel in the corner of the bedroom. “You called?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” Dean grunted. “Can she go on a long car trip?”

Cas cocked his head, then walked over and placed two fingers on my forehead. “That should not be a problem. Just do not drive for more than an hour at a time.” He looked at Dean. “You realize I am not a doctor, and that these calls are taking me away from monitoring the Darkness in Her cage?”

_Whoa. The who in her what?_ Dean waved a hand at the angel irritatedly. “I know, Cas. I think there'll only be one more, anyway.” I blinked and Cas was gone, leaving an empty space by the bed.

I pushed up on one elbow and looked down at Dean. “So,” I said. “The Darkness, huh?”

He cursed and threw his forearm over his eyes. “Goddamn angel.”

I shook his shoulder. “You know I'm not leaving you alone until I get more information, right?”

He sighed heavily. “I know. Curious little thing, you are. Really live up to your namesake.” He moved his arm from his face and sat up, gesturing for me to curl up against his side, then wrapped his arm around me. “You know I had the Mark of Cain for a while, right?” I nodded. “So, when that came off, it released the Darkness, long story how. She's this “primordial force,” Sam says, and we're connected somehow. A lot of the cases we went on while you were living here were actually us following Her, cleaning up the messes She leaves behind.” I opened my mouth to ask why they hadn't told me, but Dean continued, “We didn't tell you because, well, you were having a hard time coping with the concepts of Crowley and Castiel, and we didn't want to overload you. And then when you got used to the weirdness,” he shrugged, “we kept it a secret because She's  _really fucking scary_ . She kind of infects people, and they start killing everyone around them. Anyway, while you were – gone, we managed to get Her into a cage of sorts. Similar to the one Lucifer and Michael are in. So, Cas and his 'brothers and sisters' have Her locked up in a cage up in Heaven, and we're trying to keep Her there until we can figure out how to send Her back to wherever She came from.”

He sighed. “I should probably also warn you about Rowena. She's Crowley's mother -” my mouth dropped open “- and a crazy powerful witch. She's actually the one that got the Mark off my arm and released the Darkness in the first place. She kind of – exudes power, and she's hard to miss. Red hair, slinky black dress, pure evil, you know the type.”

“Crowley has a mother?” were the first words that made it out of my mouth as I tried to process everything he's just told me.

He looked at me and shook his head. “Really? Evil all-powerful force trying to eat the world, and you got caught up in Crowley having a mom?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “From what I've heard, you boys regularly take on and beat evil all-powerful forces trying to eat the world. Seriously, Crowley has a mother?” I'd seen the King of Hell once, from a distance, and he seemed more like something that hatched out of some serpent's egg than someone that was born from a human mother.  _Well, witchy mother._

He laughed. “Yes! He does, and she's just as batshit insane as you'd expect her to be. The spell that took the Mark off required the death of something she loved, and she killed that man without a second thought. Apparently it was a nightmare trying to find something she loved, too.”

I frowned. “Not Crowley?”

He laughed harder. “Apparently they despise each other. She actually – you remember when Cas first showed up, and we asked him about the spell that had been put on him?” I nodded. “Well, she put this spell on him that made him attack everything in sight, then sicced him on Crowley.”

I snorted in laughter, then covered my mouth. “I'm sorry. That's horrible. A mother hating her son so much, and vice versa. But somehow,” I snorted again, “it seems to fit.”

He was still laughing, and managed to choke out, “And they're _Scottish_.Crowley's real name is Fergus.”

That was it. I lost it and started rolling on the bed, arms wrapped around my stomach as I howled in laughter at the thought of some woman patting the King of Hell on the head and calling him “Fergus.”

Once we'd calmed down, Dean got sober quickly. “Look, Kat, the Darkness – She's really dangerous. And we are bonded somehow. I don't know how, but I can  _feel_ Her. I know where She is, sometimes, and sometimes I can tell when She's up to something big. Right now She's quiet, but...” he shrugged. “Who knows when that'll change.”

I snuggled in tighter against his chest. “We'll deal with it,” I told him firmly. “If and when it happens, we'll deal with it.”

Dean sighed softly. “I wish I had your confidence, kitten.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean and Sam and Charlie and I headed for Georgia the next day, Charlie insisting on coming because “I am so bored down there by myself! Seriously, Kat, I don't know how you stood it before I got there!” The three of them got most of my important things packed up and stuffed in the Impala; I was relegated to sitting on the couch and giving directions on Dean's orders. I ended up leaving most of my library, as well as Emmy's furniture and most of my work wardrobe in Georgia. What use did I have for pantsuits in the bunker, anyway?

When Dean located my phone, which had somehow slid under the dresser in my bedroom, I shrieked for joy and hugged it to my chest. The brothers looked at me like I'd lost my mind, but Charlie patted my shoulder in sympathy. “I understand that feeling completely,” she whispered in my ear, before grabbing a box of books and schlepping it down to the Impala.

“You know we're gonna have to get you a new one, right?” Dean said, gesturing to the device. “When you're reported missing, if it hasn't happened already, the police'll track that thing.”

I looked mournfully down at my phone. “Fine,” I said, “but I'm getting another iPhone.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Did you turn into an Apple fangirl while you were gone?” he teased.

I looked up at him in indignation. “Of course not! I simply like the interface of the iPhone. I'm terribly insulted, Sam. You'll notice my laptop is an Asus, yes?” I sniffed and turned my back on him. “'Apple fangirl.' The very idea.” Once Sam's laughter had finished echoing off the walls of the living room, he hefted the last box of books and headed downstairs.

I stood up off the couch and stretched. “Let me a do a quick walkthrough and make sure we didn't miss anything,” I said, and Dean nodded. I wandered through the kitchen and dining room, then meandered back towards the bedroom. When I stepped inside, I looked around and sighed. I had made this room look like a home in a way my room in the bunker never had, but it still felt empty. All the beautiful landscapes on the walls and the green and yellow quilt on the bed just seemed to emphasize the lack of warmth in the room.

“Hey,” Dean said from behind me, and I jumped. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you! Why're you looking so sad?”

I gestured to the room. “This room looks like something off an HGTV special for how to make your house inviting. I worked hard to make it feel like a home, a refuge.” I felt his arms wrap around me and I leaned back into him. “But – fair warning, I'm going to be girly – it always seemed empty and cold, because it wasn't home without you and Sam and Charlie and Cas in it.”

Dean kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, that was definitely a chick moment.” I tried to turn around and smack him, but he kept his arms wrapped around me so I couldn't move. He bent down and whispered in my ear, “But all the memory foam in the world couldn't have made the bunker feel like home without you.”

I bit back tears and responded flippantly, “We sound like a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

When I tried to turn around again, he let me. I looked up into those beautiful green eyes and said, “Dean, let's go home.”

 


	16. Gazpacho, Denial, and Men That Are Going to Be the Death of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author lives for reviews!

When we got back to the bunker, Sam and Dean flatly refused to allow me to carry any of the boxes and bags to my room. Even when they had gotten everything dumped on the bed, Dean wouldn't let me unpack by myself, instead insisting that I sit on the bed and tell him where everything went.

After the third time I caught him trying to fold a skirt and put it in the dresser, I got frustrated. “Dean,” I said, remembering what Sam had said and trying very hard to keep my voice calm, “That screaming match we talked about a week and a half ago is about thirty seconds from happening. I assure you, I am entirely capable of putting away my own clothes.”

Dean shook his head stubbornly. “No, you need to rest.”

“No, I need you to stop treating me like an invalid!”

“You are an invalid!”

“I haven't had trouble walking in days, I eat normally, I've gained eight pounds, I'm not a fucking invalid! Plus, I put up with your driving for 27 hours out of the last 48! If that didn't kill me, nothing will!” I was yelling now.

“Are you saying I can't drive?” So was he.

“I'm saying you drive like a bat out of hell, but that's not the point! The point is that I lived through it, I can unpack my own damn clothes!”

“I'm not letting you -”

I threw back my head and screamed “CAS! Get your feathery ass down here!”

A few silent seconds later, Castiel appeared with a flutter of wings. “You...prayed?” he said irritably.

“Yeah. Will you tell the halfwit here that I can hang up my own damn skirts? For that matter, will you just – check me, or whatever, and tell him I'm fine!”

The angel sighed, then pressed two fingers to my forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at Dean. “While still slightly underweight, Kat is in excellent health. Now, if you two are quite done involving me in your – domestic squabbles, I'm going back to keeping the Darkness from devouring the universe.” He looked at us expectantly, then vanished when no one spoke after a few seconds.

I stuck my tongue out at Dean. “So there.”

He laughed. “Real mature.” Then I saw his eyes darken, and his body language change from 'irritated but relaxed' to 'slightly predatory,' and I knew exactly what he had in mind. Unfortunately, as much as I wanted it too, we had to get these things put away before my room would be usable.

“Dean,” I said, “While I realize that Cas basically just gave you permission to jump me, I need you to wait, like, fifteen more minutes, okay?”

“Hmm,” he purred as he prowled towards me. “I'm just not sure I can wait that long, kitten.”

I was backing away. As much as I loved this man, when he put his mind to something, he could be a bit scary in making sure he got what he wanted. “Dean,” I said, not letting any of the arousal I was feeling come through in my voice, “I really need to put my clothes away. Why don't you go down to the library and put my books away, and when you get back, I'll be done, and then we can do what you want.”

My back was pressed to a wall at this point, and Dean was crowding into my space. “Dean. Please.” 

I could see lust warring with practicality behind his eyes, and his shoulders slumped and he sighed as practicality won. “Fine. But I'm holding you to it.” He gave me that dark smile again, the one I'd seen in Georgia, and this time I shivered in aroused approval.

Dean turned to leave, but then spun around and caught my mouth in a bruising kiss. It left me breathless and clawing at his shoulders and the wall, trying to find something to hold onto while he plundered my mouth and, it seemed, reclaimed what was his.

When he pulled away, I was gasping for breath and a little dazed, and he laughed when he saw the look on my face. Abruptly, though, his expression got serious. “Kat, I need to tell you this. While you were gone, I went to a bar in some little town on a case, and I picked up this girl. She was cute, and blonde, and she invited me back to her place. I was incredibly pissed at you, so of course I went. But when I got inside, and she kissed me...I couldn't do it. I put my coat back on and walked out the door. I'm not telling you this to – to make you jealous, or angry, or, I dunno, thankful or something. I'm telling you because that was when I realized I loved you. That moment, when I wasn't interested in screwing a hot chick, because she _wasn't you_ – that was when I knew that I had to find you and bring you back. I was already trying, but that was when I knew I _had_ to do it.”

By the end of his speech, I had buried my face in his chest and was crying. When Dean realized, he pulled my chin up and wiped the tears away with his thumb. “Please don't cry, kitten,” he begged. “I didn't mean to make you sad.”

I shook my head, unsure how to express what I was feeling. “I'm not sad, Dean. I'm – ashamed, I guess. I didn't think about how – about how anyone else would feel if I left. I ran to get away from my emotions, and I never really thought about yours and Sam's and Charlie's and Cas'. I was so – so _selfish_ , and I don't understand why you and Sam and Charlie even still want me around!”

Dean held me to him. “Yeah, you fucked up,” he said in a rough voice. “I'm not gonna deny that. But the thing about being with friends -” he pulled my chin up again so that I was making eye contact with him “- is that they forgive you. We care about you. We like you. We want you to stick around and keep baking pies, and researching obscure monsters, and reprogramming Sam's computer with awful music, and making smart-ass comments from the sidelines when me and Sam and Cas argue.” Then he stopped talking and bit back a smile. “If you ever, _ever,_ tell Sam or Charlie I said what I'm about to say, I'll make sure you can't sit for a week, understand?” I nodded, and he continued, “So you and Charlie were watching that show with the crazy British guy and the blue box a while back, and I was walking by and heard him say something: 'Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?' That's why we want you to stay. Not because you were right in what you did, but because it doesn't make a difference.” 

Now I was crying properly, ugly sobs all over Dean's flannel shirt, and he just held me and patted my back until I calmed down.

When I finally pulled my face out of his chest, I looked up at him and gave a shaky smile. “I really want to make you cheeseburgers and pie tonight. Are you gonna let me?”

He laughed, then disentangled my fingers from his shirt and held them. “No, I'm probably not, cause it'll tire you out too badly for what I want to do to you in bed afterwards. Unpack your clothes, I'll deal with the library, and I think Sam's got dinner.” He checked his watch. “It's 6:00 now. I expect you in my room at 8:00 on the dot. Understand?”

I nodded, then said in a small voice, “Dean, I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can handle much pain tonight. I know you said you would punish me for teasing you last week, but can we wait a little?”

Dean chuckled ominously, then pressed a light kiss to my lips. “Kitten, whoever said your punishment was gonna hurt?” He sauntered off towards the library, leaving me to shudder in glorious anticipation.

I managed to snap out of it and put all my clothes away, finishing in twenty minutes what it had taken Dean an hour and a half to do, then took a quick shower. When I got out, I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail, then pawed through my underwear drawer. I didn't want to wear the black lace set again, so that left the blue crotchless set and the corset and thong. I frowned, looking back and forth, then settled on the blue set. I pulled on a dark tank top and a knit waist maxi, reveling in being able to wear my own clothes, and trotted out the door and down to the kitchen.

When I got there, Sam was standing at the counter, obviously stirring something, but I couldn't see what. When I started into the room, though, he said, “Out, it'll be ready in a minute. Go sit at the War Table, Kat, we're having a family dinner.” I made a face at his back, knowing he couldn't see me, and turned around and stomped out of the kitchen. Just as I turned the corner to enter the main area, I heard him call, “And you keep making faces at me, I'll put spiders in your shower!” _Oops._

When I got to the table, there were four bowls and spoons set out at our accustomed seats. I kissed Dean on the top of the head, then took mine next to Charlie, who was typing furiously on her laptop. “What poor Republican are you defrauding tonight?” I asked, leaning over to take a look.

“None,” she replied, turning the computer a little so I could see. “I'm moving all of Anne Meyers' money back into Tamara Davis' account, via about thirty proxy servers, of course.” She grinned as I threw my arms around her.

“You are amazing,” I told her.

Her grin grew a little. “I may have also borrowed about a million dollars from Ben Carson's campaign chest to transfer to the Red Cross last week.”

I mock-frowned at her. “Charlie, what have we said about robbing the politicians to give to the non-profits?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Um, that it's awesome?”

I laughed. “Exactly! Remind me to tell you some of my volunteer stories from the Red Cross; you see some crazy people when you do that. God, I missed you. You're the best.”

“Um, excuse me,” Sam said, putting a huge bowl on the table. “I thought I was the best.”

Dean took his attention away from his tablet, where he'd been ignoring Charlie's and my antics. “I'm pretty sure I was also told I was the best.”

I squirmed. “Well, you're all the best at...different things, right? So, like, Charlie's the best at being a political activist and watching TV with me, and Sam's the best at killing bugs and reaching high things, and Dean's the best at -”

“Making you scream?” he interrupted, then flashed me a filthy smile. 

I whimpered and covered my tomato-red face with my hands, while Sam and Charlie expressed their revulsion with “God, dude, seriously? Was that necessary?,” and “Really, Dean? You've embarrassed Kat.” Then, in a low whisper, _“Can you take pictures next time?”_

I jerked my head up and said, “I heard that, Charlie Bradbury! What happened to Nicole?”

Charlie shrugged. “Old news. Now it's Stef.”

“Okay then, what would Stef think of you asking for naked pictures of another girl?”

“Honestly? She'd want to see them too.”

By this point, the boys were howling with laughter, and I was really tempted to just face-plant on the table. “Can we just eat...whatever it is Sam made?” I asked weakly.

Dean and Charlie made faces at whatever Sam put in their bowls, but when he got to mine, I recognized it immediately. “Oh my God, did you really make gazpacho?” I asked excitedly.

He laughed. “It's blender gazpacho, so don't get too excited, but yes. I made gazpacho.”

I dug in, but noticed after a few bites that Dean and Charlie were still glaring at their bowls. “Dean! It's literally nothing but vegetables and spices. Eat it.” Dean grimaced, but lifted a spoon to his lips. When he tasted it, I wished I had a camera to capture the look on his face.

“Holy shit, Sam! You made this? It's amazing! You can barely tell there's no meat in it!”

Sam shrugged modestly. “I mean, I found the recipe on the Internet, but yeah.”

Now that Dean had been converted, I turned my attention to Charlie. “Look, it's like salsa, but soup, and kind of lighter tasting. Try it. If the burger king over there is eating it, I know you can.”

“I wanna be called the burger king all the time from now on,” Dean said, looking up from his soup and shooting us a grin.

Charlie rolled her eyes at me, but sipped delicately at her spoon anyway. When her eyes lit up just like Dean's, I turned back to my bowl, satisfied.

Between bites, I said, “My mother used to make this in July and August, when you could still get most vegetables fresh at the farmer's market. She'd make it the old-fashioned way, you know, cutting up all the vegetables by hand and chilling them in tomato juice.” Abruptly, a wave of homesickness washed over me, and I steadied myself with a hand on the seat of my chair. _I haven't seen or talked to Mother in – what, almost two years? She probably thinks I'm dead._ I shook my head to clear it, then continued, “Yeah, it's like a three hour process if you do it the 'right' way, but whenever I've made it myself, I've always used a blender too.” I smiled at Sam, then returned to my soup. _Oh God, Mother, I'm so sorry._ I made a mental note to ask Charlie how to email from a secure account so that the message couldn't be tracked back to me.

Then I shoved the thoughts down and sat on them. I could worry later; right now I had delicious food and great company to enjoy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once we got through with dinner, Dean got up from the table and disappeared towards the bedrooms. I didn't pay him much mind and continued chatting with Sam and Charlie until Sam stretched his arms over his head and popped his shoulders. “Okay guys, it's eight, and I'm gonna go relax in my room and watch TV. You're welcome to join me, if you want.”

I was about to accept his offer, when something else he had said registered. “Shit! It's eight o'clock?”

Sam looked at me, puzzled. “Yeah. It's actually 8:06, if you want to get specific.”

“Dammit, I'm late!” I scrambled out of my chair and sprinted out of the room, remembering my manners just long enough to pause and call, “Have a good night!”

When I got to Dean's bedroom door, I paused, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. Dean was sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but his jeans, and he turned to look at me as I slipped inside and shut the door behind me. “You're late, kitten,” he said quietly.

“I know. I'm sorry, sir,” I replied, not bothering with excuses. He got up and stalked towards me, giving off the same predatory vibe he had displayed earlier that day, and I gulped but stood still. 

He circled me, again reminding me of some kind of big cat, then ordered, “Put your arms above your head.” Puzzled, I obeyed, and he grabbed the hem of my tank top and jerked it off. “Now, go lay down on the bed. Head on the pillow, arms out.”

I followed his instructions and carefully arranged myself on the bed, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. When I realized that the wrist and ankle cuffs were already attached to the bed, though, I sucked in a quick breath and shuddered.

Dean prowled over to the bed and climbed on, kneeling over my hips. “Tell me your safeword, kitten,” he said softly.

_Okay, so this is gonna be a real scene._ “Topeka,” I responded, just as quietly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, then leaned down and caught my lips in a passionate kiss. I moaned and threaded my fingers through his short hair, only to have my wrists grabbed and forced above my head. Dean pulled away from the kiss and said, “Just because I haven't cuffed you yet doesn't mean you get to touch. Keep your hands above your head.” I nodded in acknowledgment, and he leaned down and resumed kissing me.

When he finally broke the kiss, we were both panting for breath. He began kissing down my neck, carefully focusing on the spots he knew would drive me wild, until I was whining and arching back in a wordless plea for more. Once I was sufficiently desperate for him, he sat up, eliciting a whine, and said, “Kitten, we're changing one rule. You can speak – use words – without being asked a direct question, as long as you're begging. Do you understand?”

Now I knew where this was going, and it was going to be glorious misery. “Yes, sir,” I replied, and braced myself.

Dean nibbled his way down my chest, and I focused on keeping my hands above my head and out of his hair. When he reached my bra, he slid the cup down and let my breast pop out, licking and sucking at the nipple for a moment. He repeated the treatment on the other breast, again only mouthing at the nipple for a split second, before reaching behind my back and unfastening the bra. He slid the straps slowly off my shoulders and down my arms, which I moved from above my head when I saw what he was doing. 

Once the bra was off and I was left lying in my skirt and panties, Dean decided he was going to focus his attention exclusively on my right breast. He started by nipping at the sensitive skin on the underside, leaving tiny bruises from his teeth and making me moan and arch my back. He gradually moved his mouth upwards, circling around my nipple to suck at the flesh of my upper breast. He stayed there for a few moments, then finally moved down and took my nipple in his mouth. I hissed and involuntarily pushed my chest into his mouth, and he let me do it without protest, simply sucking harder on the sensitive point and gently scraping his teeth across it.

Once he'd finished with that breast, he moved to the other, giving it exactly the same treatment. At this point I was fighting to keep my arms above my head and out of his hair, and rather than risk more of the unspecified punishment, I decided to take advantage of the edited rule. “Please, sir,” I gasped, “Please cuff me.”

Dean took his attention away from my overstimulated flesh and looked up at me, taking in my flushed face and tense arms, and said, “Are you having trouble with the no touching rule, kitten?”

I nodded miserably and said, “Yes, sir,” twisting my fingers in the pillowcase.

“Well,” he said, “Since you asked so nicely, I'd be happy to. Arms out.” I obeyed and spread my arms out on either side of my head, and felt him clasping the cuffs around each wrist. Once they were secure, I relaxed and sighed quietly.

When I made eye contact with Dean again, he looked confused. “You really like that, don't you, kitten? Not being able to move?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. When he looked expectant, I hesitantly continued, “It means I don't have to be in control. I don't have to be – well, me. The only expectations I have to meet are yours. All I have to do is what you want me to, sir.”

He was obviously still perplexed, but shook his head. “Let me tell you how your punishment is going to work.” I was immediately paying rapt attention. “For each offense, I am going to drag you to the edge of orgasm, but you are _not_ going to come. I believe at this point we're at one for teasing me a week ago, one for denying me earlier today, and one for being late. Oh, and we'll throw in one for general sassiness. If you come, I will spank you five times. How's that sound?”

“Good, sir,” I said. It actually sounded perfectly fucking awful, but I wasn't going to tell him that, especially when he smiled that cruel smile and began inching his fingers up my skirt. I abruptly remembered which underwear I was wearing, and stifled a small smile. _He's gonna get a surprise in a few seconds..._

Sure enough, when Dean reached the apex of my thighs, he went to slide his fingers against the cotton crotch of my panties but instead found hot, slick flesh. He let out what seemed to be an involuntary groan, then removed his fingers and licked my wetness off of them.

“You decided to give me a surprise, huh?” he said, his voice husky. “I like it. I think we'll knock one edge off your punishment.”

_Okay, so that leaves three._ It was still gonna suck, but it would be tolerable, and I'd probably be able to walk tomorrow. The trick was going to be not letting myself come under his talented tongue and fingers, because I had a feeling he wasn't going to be gentle.

Sure enough, almost before I had finished the thought, Dean had slipped two fingers into me and was pumping them in and out rapidly. Fortunately, I couldn't come with no stimulation to my clit, but he was definitely making sure I was very turned on before continuing. He kept up the quick movements, making me toss my head on the pillow, but never touching my clit.

When his fingers suddenly pulled out of me, I couldn't help moaning at the loss, but Dean quickly set his fingers to circling my clit. My orgasm was building fast, and the heat in my abdomen was so intense I couldn't see how I could hold it back.

Finally, he stopped, a millisecond before I gave up and let go. His fingers were immediately removed and I whined in frustration at my stolen climax, but started taking deep breaths, forcing my heart rate to slow, and brought myself down from my peak. _That's one. Two to go._

Echoing my thoughts, Dean leaned down and whispered, “Good job, kitten. Two to go.” He pulled down my skirt and underwear, holding both waistbands at once, then tossed them on the floor and spread my legs as far as they would go. He grinned up at me, licked his lips, then sucked my clit into his mouth.

I cried out, arching my back and shoving my sex against his face, but he wrapped both hands around my hips and slammed them onto the bed, holding them there while he licked at the sensitive bundle of nerves. I tried to twist, not sure whether I wanted to escape the overwhelming sensation or get more of it, but his strong arms made sure I didn't move.

He kept licking and sucking until I was a moaning mess, barely holding on, jerking against the cuffs to keep myself distracted with pain. In desperation, I finally started listing ways to kill monsters in my head again. _Vampires: beheading. Rugaru: fire. Rakshasa: brass knife. Djinn: silver knife with – fuck – lamb's blood. Wendigo: fire again. Feelssogood...No! Siren: bronze knife with...ohmygod...blood of its victim. Wraith: a...silver blade...to..._

Dean abruptly pulled away and I tried to get my body to relax from its furiously aroused state. I repeated my calming techniques, regulating my breathing, until I was slightly less tense. I listened to my heartbeat slow and consciously loosened each muscle group, letting the strain ebb, until I finally resembled a human being and not an overstrung bow.

I had barely noticed that Dean had laid down next to me and was gently stroking my extended arm until he asked, “You okay, kitten?”

I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to get enough saliva in my mouth to answer. “Yes, sir,” I croaked. “I'm good.”

I could hear him grinning. “Well, then. Let's go again.” I heard an ominous buzzing, and then felt a vibrator being carefully slid into my dripping channel. I moaned and twisted my head at the intense stimulation, but snapped my eyes open and screamed when I felt Dean's tongue begin swirling over my clit at the same time the vibrator sent powerful sensations through my core.

It was a whole new kind of feeling, and I felt the heat in my belly building. I pulled at the cuffs, killed monsters in my head, and tried every tactic I had to distract myself from my rapidly approaching climax before I gave up and moaned, “Please, sir!”

“Please, sir, what?” Dean responded from between my legs, removing his tongue and circling my clit with his fingers. “'Please, sir, make me come and then spank me,' or 'please, sir, stop so I don't come?'”

Through gritted teeth, fighting my orgasm with all my might, I managed to force out, “Please, sir, stop so I don't come!”

He gave a little laugh, then said, “Whatever you want, kitten.” His fingers and the vibrator were immediately removed from my sex, and I whimpered as I felt the climax recede. I could feel the sweat on my forehead and my wetness dripping from my slit, and the tension from three denied orgasms still lay coiled in my abdomen. I closed my eyes and panted, just trying to focus on something other than my oversensitive clit, but jerked when I felt the mattress move.

At some point during my attempt to calm down, Dean had shed his jeans, and he was now naked and crawling back onto the bed. I opened my eyes and tried to focus on him, but he was mostly a blur of golden skin and a smudge of black ink. I felt him slowly run his hands down my body, then carefully ease his cock into my throbbing passage. I immediately whined and wrapped my legs around his waist, taking him deeper and forcing a low curse from him.

Apparently my punishment had affected him almost as much as it had affected me, because he immediately set up a punishing pace that hit my clit with every thrust. I could feel myself flying towards an orgasm, one that promised to be overwhelming, and I gasped and shoved back against Dean, trying to get him to move even faster.

He obliged, growling, “Come for me,” in my ear, and the tension in my stomach suddenly snapped and everything went white. I dimly heard him say, “Fuck, kitten,” as I clenched around him, then his thrusts stuttered and slowed as he emptied himself into me.

When I came down, I became uncomfortably aware of about 170 pounds of drowsy hunter on top of me. “Dean,” I gasped out, “I can't breathe. Please move.”

He moaned and wiggled a bit, then apparently decided it wasn't worth the effort to actually move. I sighed and looked at the ceiling. My hands were still cuffed to the headboard, and he was pinning my legs to the bed, but his head was right beside mine...

“Shit!” Dean cursed, bolting upright and holding his hand to his ear. “Did you just _bite_ me?!”

“You wouldn't move!” I protested. “And you're really heavy!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you calling me fat, kitten?”

“No, of course not,” I said hastily. “It's all muscle. But honestly, I don't care what it is, because you're still sitting on me and you're still _heavy!_ ”

He growled under his breath and rolled off, saying, “I'm seriously considering leaving you cuffed, flipping you over, and spanking you.”

I said apologetically, “Ah, normally I wouldn't be opposed to that, but I'm not really – I don't think I can take it right now.”

He sighed. “All right, fine. I'll add it to your tab.”

Now I was alarmed. “Uh, I have a tab?”

“You do now,” he grinned, and reached up to unfasten my wrists.

I pulled my arms down, wincing as the blood flow returned to normal, then began to massage the red marks on my wrists. “So,” I said, “How bad did you mark me up this time?”

He looked me up and down, then replied, “A couple of spectacular hickies on your neck, your boobs are gonna have some bruises on them, and -” he grabbed my arm and examined it “- yeah, pretty sure you're gonna have cuff marks on your wrists.”

“Ah, hell,” I sighed. “Well, let's hope Cas doesn't stop by and ask any awkward questions before they're healed.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Why just Cas? Why aren't you all bent out of shape about Charlie and Sam seeing them?”

“Well,” I replied, “Sam will just blush and carefully not ask, while Charlie will congratulate me and demand details.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I can see that.”

We laid there in silence for a while, until Dean's breathing deepened into the regular slow respiration of sleep. I rolled over and snuggled into him, not waiting for his usual octopus antics to cuddle, and gave a long sigh of content.

_Yeah. This is home._


	17. Research, Kidnappings, and Men Who Really Shouldn't Chat With Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT ALERT

The next morning, I woke up to find Dean already gone, his side of the bed cold. I frowned; that was very unusual. I almost always woke up before he did, now that my brain chemistry wasn't literally making me sleep all the time.

I got up, threw on some clothes, and padded quietly towards the main room. I could hear voices as I approached, and quickly realized that Sam and Dean were discussing something in the library. As I got closer, I was able to catch pieces of what they were saying.

“- black streaks -”

“- Leviathan?”

“- don't bleed black -”

“- mutation? Like Eve -”

“- alpha of -”

“- more creator maybe -”

I stuck my head around the door and said, “Wait, weren't the Leviathans supposed to be God's first creations?”

Sam and Dean both jumped about a foot out of their chairs, and Sam was the first to respond. “Yeah, but some of the characteristics of the Leviathans are showing up again in the Darkness infected people – the black veins, the wanton destruction. Not to mention the Darkness eats souls, the Leviathans eat flesh – it's like they're symbiotic, or connected some other way.”

Dean chimed in, “The current theory is that the Darkness created the Leviathans, not God, and the lore is wrong – which has happened before. God also bound both of them due to their destructive tendencies, so there's that, too.”

I walked into the library and sat down next to Dean. “Some of that makes sense, but it's kind of farfetched. I get the black veins part, cause when the Leviathans possessed Cas he did the whole black veins thing, but the Darkness rabids bleed red, right?”

“They do,” Sam said, “but their blood is infectious, like it's black metaphorically or something. There's also the possibility that since the Leviathans were locked in Purgatory for so long, their attributes changed. They evolved, per se.”

“Okay,” I said, “Let's set aside the problems with the theory and focus on its implications. If the Darkness is, like, the leader of the Leviathans, She should have the same weaknesses, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Dean said slowly. “Like, the alpha vampire, he was affected by dead man's blood, but not totally messed up by it like other vamps are.”

“And we know She can't be killed,” Sam added. “Our only real chance is to try to put Her back where She came from. The cage She's in now is strong, but Cas estimates we've only got about another month, maybe two, before She breaks out. Not to mention putting Her in there required some serious spellwork from Don Stark, that witch we dealt with once before. He was in bed for two weeks, his wife said, and she was pissed we got him to do it. Don't think there'll be any more help from that corner.”

“And we know that the Mark of Cain was a key locking Her in, and of course there's no information on how that was made, cause God made it. Inconvenient,” I groused.

“I wonder...” Sam started, then trailed off.

“What?” Dean said impatiently.

“I wonder if we could write our own spell? I mean, someone had to come up with these things, right?”

“That's a thought,” I said slowly, “but we'd probably need a witch to help. Not necessarily a powerful one, just one who kind of knows how things work. Don't suppose y'all know any witches who don't want to kill you?”

“Well, I mean, Rowena probably doesn't want to kill us _immediately,_ ” Dean started.

Sam interrupted his brother, saying, “James! James Frampton!” At Dean's baffled look, he rolled his eyes and said, “That cop turned witch?” Dean was obviously still drawing a blank. “The one with the hot familiar?”

“Oh yeah!” Dean said, earning him a quick smack on the shoulder. “Hey! Long before I met you, babe,” he said, twisting to give me a quick kiss. Sam made gagging sounds, and I laughed as I returned my attention to the books that had somehow appeared in front of me.

“Okay, boys, y'all have gotten me pulled into this,” I sighed, pulling my hair up into my 'researching ponytail' with the band around my wrist. “I'm going to start with the usual medieval and pre-civ texts, then move into some of my more obscure Native American books. We tend to focus on European ideations of God, but the Native Americans worshiped a very similar one, and I'd bet there are mentions of the Darkness in their oral tradition.”

I could see Dean's eyes starting to glaze over, and I said, “It looks like you and Sam have been at this for a while. Why don't y'all go have breakfast, and I'll get started?”

Dean hopped up and headed for the kitchen immediately, but Sam lingered and said, “Don't you want anything?” 

I smiled up at him – way up – and said, “Nah, I'm good. I don't eat right after I get up.”

“If you're sure,” Sam said, and followed Dean towards the kitchen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I don't know what time the boys had woken up to start researching, but I didn't register that they hadn't come back until Charlie plopped down beside me with her ever-present laptop. “Hey, Kat! Whatcha doing?”

“Darkness research,” I groaned, and slammed my head down on the incredibly rare 700-year-old manuscript in front of me. “Hey, have you seen the boys?”

Charlie shrugged. “There's snoring coming from Sam's room, so I assumed they were still asleep. Admittedly, it's like noon, but it happens sometimes.”

I sighed. “More like back asleep. They must have gotten up super early this morning to start researching, and I found them around seven and sent them to go find breakfast. They must have decided I could hold down the research fort and gone back to bed.” I hesitated, then said, “Charlie, while I've got you alone -”

“No, Kat, I'm with Stef now,” she interrupted, then burst out laughing at the stunned look on my face. “Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist. What do you need?”

“I haven't talked to my mom since the boys dragged me out of North Carolina almost two years ago,” I said softly. “I was wondering if you could set up an – an untraceable email account? Like, I could send emails to whoever I wanted and they wouldn't be able to trace an IP address or location or anything?”

Charlie shrugged. “Sure thing. Gimme five minutes. You'll need to use my laptop for it, cause I'm gonna set you up a separate Linux environment to actually email from, but I know the wifi in the bunker is untraceable.”

Sure enough, I'd barely managed to get back into the medieval German of my book before she was handing me her laptop and saying, “Be careful with my baby, okay? Be back in ten.” 

She dashed off towards the kitchen, and I slowly sat the laptop down in front of me. How do you write to your mother that you haven't contacted in two years and probably thinks you're dead? _Hi mom, I'm not dead and I didn't kill Rob, regardless of what the police are telling you_ probably wasn't the best way to go about it. Finally, I took a deep breath and started typing.

_Hi Mom,_

_I know you haven't heard from me in a long time, and I know that the police are probably looking for me. They may even think I'm dead. Well, I'm not. I got caught up in some things that were out of my control and I had to leave town fast and lay low._

_I have a job doing research for a group that does really important work, and it's perfect for my skill set and education. I've met a great guy and I'm living with good friends. I'm happy, Mom._

_You can reply to this email if you'd like; I'll check it every couple of days._

_I love you._

_Kat_

I sat back and read over my message. It seemed so inadequate; I really wanted to tell her what Sam and Dean did, what kind of research I was doing, and what kind of life I was living now, but I knew that was impossible. I sighed and hit 'send' just as Charlie came back into the library.

“Did you do what you needed to do?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, sliding the laptop back over to her. “Thanks.”

Charlie took the computer and settled into her chair while I pulled my book of medieval German legends back towards me. 

After a few hours paging through medieval manuscripts and copies of copies of cuneiform and hieroglyphic texts, I sighed and slammed the final book shut. Charlie looked up at the noise and said, “What's up?”

“Nothing in these,” I said, running my fingers through my ponytail and grimacing as I encountered a knot. “I'm going to have to go into my Native American collection.” I got up and reshelved my books, then went over to the section I'd set aside for my personal library. I pulled out the oldest books I had, along with some collections of oral tradition I had personally written, and sat back down at the table to start the whole process again.

This time, though, I hit pay dirt in twenty minutes. I grabbed another text, one with similar legends from a different tribe, and began to cross reference. In another half hour, I had six different texts spread over the table, all open to a version of the same myth.

I sat back, stunned. The Native Americans had known about the Darkness, all right, and they knew exactly what She was and what She was capable of. Most of the legends even included a brief overview of the creation of the Mark and its power as the Key to her cage.

Just as I was getting ready to get up and get the boys, they wandered into the library, hair still mussed from sleep. “You got anything, Kat?” Sam asked, yawning so hard his jaw cracked.

“Do I ever,” I replied, and suddenly both men and Charlie were on full alert. “Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the table, “cause this one's intense.” Sam and Dean sat down at the table, looking at me expectantly, and I began.

“The Native Americans, especially those of South America, knew exactly what the Darkness was. She features prominently in their earliest legends about the creation of the world, usually as the mother goddess Coatlicue. While most mother goddesses are divine, Coatlicue is represented as one that both creates and destroys. The word 'devour' is often used to describe what she will do to the world if she is ever freed. She's often represented as in conflict with her son, Huitzilopochtli, who is the god of the sun and light. One particular legend states that he is in constant need of sacrifice to strengthen him, as he is in perpetual conflict with 'the darkness outside of time and space.' That's a rough translation, but I think it fits what we're looking for.”

“Okay,” Dean said, “I'm convinced that they knew what they were talking about. How do we lock Her up?”

I sighed. “That's where it gets complicated, and where I've been trying to pull together elements from Christian and Jewish mythology with the older, less...whitewashed religions. The Christian legends say, of course, that the Darkness was 'locked away,' but aren't specific as to how. If you go a bit further back, and look into the individual mythologies of the tribes that eventually made up the Aztec nation, you find mentions of a 'ritual' or a 'sacrifice' that was made at 'sunrise after the night of brightness' – the sunrise after the night of the full moon – that would 'turn the key.' That was, I assume, a human sacrifice, seeing as how those were really the only kind of sacrifices the Mesoamericans made. There's also a lot of noise about blood – blood of the first son, which could also be the first fallen, since this is hard to read. There's this one little line that could change the meaning of the entire glyph...but anyway, it also calls for a lot more blood from a bunch of different people. I think, if I'm reading this right, they're implying that they have a spell that's supposed to lock her up if she gets loose.”

“That's great, though!” Sam exclaimed. “That's exactly what we're looking for!”

I winced and rubbed at my shoulders, sore from bending over the books. “Yes and no. Let me read you the list of ingredients, okay? It's all blood. We've got blood of the father of beasts, blood of the ruler of corrupted mankind -”

“Hang on,” Dean said suddenly. “Sammy, does that sound familiar to you?”

“Yeeeah,” Sam said, drawing the word out. “It sounds kinda like the spell we used to kill Dick Roman. Makes sense, if She's connected to the Leviathans somehow.”

“Well, that's not it,” I said. “It also calls for the blood of the one who released the Darkness from Her cage, as well as the blood of the last holder of the Key, to go along with that one about the first son or the first fallen. The last one is the nastiest – the text says 'since the last holder of the Key was remiss in his duties, he must make a sacrifice to confine Coatlicue. The lifeblood of something he loves must be added to the mix.'”

“Okay,” Dean said, sitting back. “So we need, for sure, blood from an alpha, blood from Crowley, blood from Rowena, and blood from me. Then there's that one you aren't sure about, right?” I nodded, and he continued, “So then we need the 'lifeblood' of something I love, so it'll need to be killed, kinda like we needed Oscar when Rowena removed the Mark. Well, I've already tried to let people I love die to complete a spell, and it didn't work out real well, so that's not gonna happen.”

“Well,” I replied, “It did say some _thing._ It didn't specify that the thing killed had to be human.”

Dean flung out his hands. “That doesn't really help, Kat!”

“Wait,” Charlie said, and we all turned to look at her, startled. She hadn't said anything since the boys got back to the library, but she continued, “If it can be a thing, there's a '67 Impala sitting in the garage.”

“He certainly has a love affair with that car,” I replied, ignoring Dean's indignant huff, “but what is the 'lifeblood' of a car? Gasoline? Oil? Transmission fluid?”

“Maybe all of the above,” she said. “Human blood isn't made of just one substance, either; there are white and red blood cells, platelets, and other things.”

“I'm not sure that's the kind of sacrifice the Aztecs are talking about,” Sam said doubtfully.

I shrugged. “It's worth a try. We can probably get the other blood with minimal difficulty, with the exception of Rowena and that one I'm not sure about, so if we're careful and don't use all of it the first try, we can regroup if it doesn't work. We'll have to wait a month for the next full moon if it fails, but it's better than nothing, and it'll give us time to work something else out.”

"Hold on just a second here," Dean exclaimed. "You want me to drain my baby of all her fluids and throw them in a spell bowl?"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, Dean, would you rather slit Sam's throat?" 

Sam actually looked worried for a minute, but relaxed when Dean scowled and said, “I guess not. Well, then I guess Sam and I had better talk to Crowley. When's the next full moon?”

“A week from tonight. Are you on speaking terms with Crowley?” I asked curiously. I could never keep track of when Crowley was trying to kill the Winchesters, the Winchesters were trying to kill Crowley, and when they were in an uneasy truce.

Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. He helped us lock up the Darkness in the cage She's in now. I don't think he'd be horribly averse to bleeding a little, and he gave us his blood for the Leviathan spell without arguing. You and Charlie see if you can figure out that last ingredient, okay? Looks like we're in a hurry.”

I nodded and bent back over the books, while the guys got up and headed outside, I supposed to call Crowley. “Charlie,” I said, “Can I show you this, and get the opinion of a second pair of eyes?”

“Sure thing.” She came around the table and leaned over my shoulder as I pointed to the glyph that was giving me so much trouble.

“Okay, so if this line weren't here, it would be 'blood of the first son,' but if it's supposed to be there, it would be 'blood of the first fallen.' Of course, this book is a copy of a copy of a copy, and I have no idea of knowing if the scribe let his pen slip or if that line is supposed to be there. You see how it's kind of thinner than the others?”

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I see what you're saying.” She leaned closer, nose almost touching the book, then sighed and shook her head. “I dunno, Kat. It could go either way.”

I slumped in my chair. “Dammit. Well, let's see if we can find the list of ingredients anywhere else.”

Charlie and I were settling into a comfortable silence, her with her computer, me with my books, when the laptop dinged.

Charlies made a few clicks, then frowned. “Kat, you've got a reply to whatever you sent.”

“Give it here,” I gasped, reaching for the computer,“give it here!”

“Easy there,” she said, pushing the laptop back towards me.

I opened the response from my mother's email address, which read:

_We know you're working with the Winchesters._

_We have your mother._

_Be in front of Overton's library at midnight in two days. Alone._

“Oh my God,” I said in shock. “Oh my God.” I started panicking, trying not to hyperventilate as I jumped out of my chair and bolted outside, leaving Charlie blinking behind me in confusion.

I burst outside into the bright sunlight, and saw Sam and Dean talking to Crowley a little ways away. I sprinted towards them, and saw Crowley raise his eyebrows and nod in my direction before the Winchesters turned around quickly.

I ran straight into Sam, who caught me and said, “What the hell, Kat? Why aren't you -”

“Someone has my mom, Sam! We have to go back to North Carolina _right now,_ come on, bleed him and let's go!”

“Whoa, whoa, kitten, back up!” Dean said. “What happened, exactly?”

“Charlie set me up with an untraceable email account and I emailed my mom and got a reply and they said they knew I was working with you and they had her and I had to be in front of Overton's library at midnight in two days!” I cried. “Come _on,_ we have to go!”

I jumped when Crowley said, “Well, who is this gorgeous little thing?” 

I'd completely forgotten he was even there, and Dean apparently had too, because he moved closer to where Sam was holding me and said, “No one you need to worry about. Sam?”

“Yeah, it's a deal,” Sam said, “but only if I watch you bleed into the bottle.”

“So distrustful, Moose!” Crowley said, rolling his eyes and producing a knife from the inside of his coat. He slit his palm, then let blood drip into the small bottle Dean held for him. When it was full, an orange light appeared along the bloody slit, and when it was gone, so was the cut. “There, you have your blood. You'll deliver the angel blade when I call?”

“Yes,” Sam said, “but wait a week or so for us to get hold of it.”

“Sure,” Crowley said, then his eyes widened as he looked behind us. “How many women do you have in that place, boys?”

I twisted in Sam's arms to see Charlie running towards us as well. “I figured it out,” she panted as she reached us. “The last one. There was an earlier copy of the book that had been digitized and put online, and it's definitely 'blood of the first fallen.'”

“Shit!” Dean swore. “That's Lucifer! How the hell are we supposed to get Lucifer's blood?”

Sam looked warily at Crowley. “Maybe we should move this discussion inside, guys.” Charlie nodded and headed back into the bunker, but Crowley spoke before we could follow.

“No, no, do continue,” the demon said, waving a hand airily. “I'm curious as to how you think you're going to get into Lucifer's cage without my help.”

There was a brief pause, then Sam growled, “He's right, Dean, as much as I hate to admit it. With the reapers so pissed at us, there's no other way to get access to Hell.”

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned to Crowley. “What do you want for two round trips to Lucifer's cage?”

“You idiots, I'm not letting you into Hell,” Crowley snapped. “You'd end up destroying it. You'll be paying me for my demons to go into the cage and extract the blood. And as for what I want...let's go with your souls. How's that?”

The boys rolled their eyes. “That's never actually going to happen, and you should stop leading with it,” Sam sighed.

“Hey, Dean did it once,” the demon pointed out. “It's worth a shot.” _Dean did what?_ I looked over at Dean, but his focus was entirely on the negotiation. Crowley continued, “I want the First Blade.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “It's useless now.”

“I have my reasons,” Crowley said impatiently. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Dean said suddenly.

Sam let go of me, angrily pulled Dean farther away from Crowley, and started whispering, leaving me standing a bit too close to the demon for comfort. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I saw Dean look at Crowley, then start gesticulating angrily.

My attention was pulled away from the boys' argument by a voice at my elbow. “So which one are you fucking, pet?”

I rounded on him. “I beg your pardon?” I hissed, my mind momentarily taken off my mother's predicament.

“Which one of the over-muscled morons over there are you fucking?” he repeated, and without thinking, I drew back my arm and slapped him. His hand flew to his face in shock, and then he smiled at me. “A girl who slaps the King of Hell without even thinking about what he could do to her? Definitely sleeping with one of them. My money's on Moose, with the way his hands were all over you a minute ago.”

I turned my back and resolutely ignored him, trying to read Sam's lips as he gestured at Dean, but I could still hear Crowley behind me. “Maybe it's Dean? You seem a bit too...impulsive for Sam.” He paused. “Or perhaps it's both. Do they share you, or do they take turns?”

I couldn't resist. I spun around and snapped, “What makes you think I'm sleeping with one of the boys at all? Maybe Charlie and I are carrying on a torrid love affair.” Immediately, I kicked myself for responding to his taunts.

He blinked, clearly taken aback, then recovered. “Charlie? Is that the redhead who was just here? Oh, sweetheart, I like you.”

I turned around again and saw that the guys were walking back to us, Sam's face tight and unhappy, Dean's not much better. When they reached us, this time it was Dean who wrapped his arms around me.  
“So, do we have a deal?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” Sam said angrily. “But Castiel hid it. We'll need to get him to find it and convince him to give it to us.”

“Well,” Crowley replied, “you have my number. Call me, and we'll trade.” He winked at me and vanished.

I let out a deep breath and twisted to look up at Dean. “When are y'all gonna kill him?” I demanded. “He spent the entire time you two were arguing theorizing about who in the bunker I was sleeping with.”

Dean kissed me on the top of the head. “As soon as he stops being useful,” he sighed. “Now, what was that about your mom?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, we were on the road to North Carolina. Sam and Dean had tried their best to convince me to stay at the bunker, but I had made up my mind and refused to budge. Short of cuffing me to a bed, there was no way I wasn't going with them, and apparently they weren't willing to go quite that far this time.

When we arrived, it was about three hours before the designated meeting time. We had decided that I would be bait, and the boys would move in and take down whatever showed up. Then they'd – extract – the information on where my mother was being held from it, and we'd go from there.

I was fidgeting horribly, pacing up and down the room, and Dean finally put down his beer and whispered something to Sam. Sam looked at me and nodded, then got up, threw his jacket on, and walked out the door.

“Where's he going?” I asked Dean worriedly, my eyes flicking back and forth from where I could see Sam climbing into the Impala and Dean sitting at the little table.

“Beats me,” Dean said, getting up and wrapping his arms around me from behind. “I just asked him to leave for an hour or so.”

I twisted around and looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because you,” he said, walking me backwards until my knees hit the edge of the bed, “need to stop stressing so hard, and there's a really good way to do that.”

“Dean,” I said, “I'm not really in the mood.”

“I know,” he said, peppering light kisses over my neck and shoulders, “and I'm not necessarily talking about sex. Just let me touch you, okay?”

I sighed and stripped off my top and jeans, then laid down on the bed in my bra and underwear. “Bra too, and roll over,” he directed, and I stripped off my bra and flopped over onto my stomach, pillowing my head on my arms as he took off his shirt and jeans.

“Dean,” I started irritably, “I really don't see -” He straddled me, wearing only his boxers, and his hands were suddenly massaging the tension out of my shoulders. I gasped, my irritation forgotten, and relaxed under his ministrations .

“Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?” he said from behind me, and I could hear the smile in his voice. My only response was a sigh, and his fingers dug in harder, releasing tension I was pretty sure I'd been carrying since I worked at Overton.

“Why haven't you ever done this before?” I mumbled into my folded arms. “I would cheerfully pay you in sexual favors to do this at least once a week.”

Dean gave a low chuckle, moving his hands to the space between my shoulder blades. “Honestly? Because you've never seemed particularly tense, not like this.”

I craned my head around to look at him, but only got a brief glance before one big hand shoved it back onto my arms. “I'm always tense!” I protested. “Like, seriously, my shoulders and neck are always this huge knot. It's one of the reasons I bruise so badly when you bite me there, I think.”

“Well then,” Dean said lowly, “maybe I should stop. We wouldn't want you to quit being able to show off my marks.”

“Don't you dare,” I hissed, and he chuckled again and kept kneading my back. I drifted into a light doze as he continued to force my muscles to relax, luxuriating in the touch of his callused hands on my skin.

I came up from my haze when I realized that he'd stopped massaging me, instead just running his hands over my back and shoulders, occasionally planting kisses on the back of my neck. I made a soft sound of contentment and shifted slightly, just enough to realize there was something hard pressing into the small of my back.

I heard Dean bite off a noise at the contact, and I wiggled under him until I had successfully rolled over onto my back. “Is something wrong, honey?” I asked innocently, enjoying the game of pretending I didn't know exactly what he wanted, and pushing my hips up just enough to graze against his cotton-covered erection.

“You know exactly what's wrong,” he hissed, and bent down to claim my lips in a kiss. It was surprisingly gentle, and I sighed when he released my mouth.

Running my fingers through his short hair, my heart in my throat, I asked shyly, “Make love to me?”

His eyes opened wide, then softened. “Any time, kitten.”

The sex was slow and gentle, and I whispered Dean's name when my climax broke over me like a wave. He followed me over the edge shortly after, gasping against my shoulder as his cock pulsed inside me, and I stroked his back as he came down.

We laid there for a few minutes, then Dean grimaced as he pulled out. “Sorry to break the mood, but Sam's gonna be back before long,” he said, heading into the bathroom. We cleaned ourselves up and got dressed, ending up back on the bed, my back pressed to his front.

“Dean, I'm scared,” I said softly. “They took her to get to me to get to you, and that means she and I are expendable.”

I felt his arms tighten around my waist, and he said fiercely, “No. Nothing will happen to you, understand? Nothing. I promise.”

“But, Dean,” I started, but he cut me off.

“Nothing.”


	18. Archangels, Spells, and Men Who Are Being Led Into a Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of plot

An hour and a half later, I was pacing anxiously in front of my old workplace, waiting for whoever had emailed me to show. I checked my phone for the time, then shoved it back in my pocket and turned around to resume my pacing when I almost ran into a dark-haired man.

“Katherine Whitaker,” he growled. “Where are the Winchesters?” I hesitated, and he said, “Don't worry, we won't hurt you.”

“I left them at the motel,” I lied. “I told them I was supposed to be here at 3 am, then went out to get some air and never came back.”

“Well then,” he said, two more men appearing out of the darkness around him, “This should be quick and easy.” He opened his mouth to reveal a set of the same teeth that had left a scar on my neck almost two years ago, then started moving slowly towards me.

I backed away, saying, “You said you wouldn't hurt me!”

He grinned, a horrible sight with all those teeth, and said, “I lied.” _Is that exchange some sort of thing with their species?_

I whirled and raced away, skidding around the corner of the building just ahead of two vampires. I heard twin thuds as their heads hit the ground, then Dean emerged from the shadows with a bloody machete just as the third rounded the corner. The vamp's eyes went wide with shock, but when he turned to run, Sam was behind him and knocked him down with one blow.

“I heard you were looking for us,” Sam said, stalking closer to the monster, who was trying to crawl away.

The vampire glared at me, standing next to Dean, and said, “You said you left them at the motel!”

I looked down at him and smiled. “I lied.”

Sam crouched down next to the vampire and pulled out a syringe full of dark red liquid. “Now, I know you aren't the one looking for us. You're too far down on the totem pole. I suggest you tell me who sent you before I have to use this.”

His eyes glued to the syringe, the vamp stammered, “The alpha! It – it was the alpha! He's still pissed about you making him let that boy go a while back!”

Sam and Dean made eye contact and grinned. “Excellent,” Sam said, leaning closer to the monster cringing on the ground. “Why don't you tell us where he's holed up, and we'll go visit him ourselves?”

A few minutes later, there were three heads on the ground and the boys and I were walking back to the Impala. The address the vamp had given us was in a wealthy part of town, and I gave Dean directions to get to the huge plantation-style mansion where the alpha was living.

“I used to know the people who lived here,” I said, looking wistfully at the columns. “I guess they're probably dead now.”

Sam looked at Dean, still sitting in the driver's seat. “So what's the plan? We just gonna knock on the door?”

Dean shrugged. “Why not? We've got dead man's blood bullets and machetes; I think we can probably inconvenience them enough that we get in, get Mrs. Whitaker, and get out.”

The guys got out of the car, but when I went to open mine, Dean wouldn't let me. “You stay here, Kat,” he said seriously. “We can't be worrying about two civilians in there, okay?” He handed me a handgun. “This has some of those dead man's blood bullets in it. Anything comes for you, shoot it between the eyes. If we aren't back in twenty minutes, leave.”

Scowling, I accepted the pistol. I knew that what he had said made sense, but that didn't mean I had to like it. I watched as the boys walked up to the house, and Dean knocked on the door. It was opened, and the boys just walked in, no violence involved. I sighed and settled down to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, they came out, covered in blood and supporting my mother between them. I immediately slammed the car door opened and rushed towards them, embracing my mother tightly. “I'm so sorry, Mom,” I sobbed. “I didn't know they would come after you.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Time for that after we get out of here. Not sure how long the truce is gonna last.”

Between the three of us, we got Mom into the car, and Dean peeled off towards the motel. “So we ended up having to fight part of our way to the alpha,” he said over his shoulder, “but once we actually got to him, he wanted to talk. Freakin' monsters, always wanting to talk. Anyway, we took a chance and told him about the spell to lock the Darkness back up, and he said -”

“Okay, whoever you are, stop,” my mother interrupted, and turned to me. “Katherine, what the hell is going on here?”

I'd never heard my mom curse before. “Um, it's complicated,” I hedged, and her expression sharpened.

“Simplify it.”

I squirmed and said, “Well, we should probably start with the vampires that we just got you away from.”

She blinked at me. “I'm sorry, I thought you said vampires.”

I heard a muffled snort from the front seat, and I glared at the back of Dean's head. “Shut up, Dean. Where did you think I learned to snark?” I turned my attention back to my mom. “Yeah, Mom, vampires. Are you hurt at all?”

She shook her head. “No. They really wanted you, I guess, or maybe these men here.”

I gave a deep sigh of relief. “Okay, good. So, yeah, vampires are real. So are werewolves, and demons, and angels, and witches, and ghosts, and all kinds of other things that go bump in the night. Sam and Dean here fight them. I was coming home from work the night before I last called you when a vampire attacked me, and Sam rescued me. The guys were looking for me because of my research into Native American mythology; they were having trouble with a ghost up on Brown Mountain. Grandma probably told you about it.” 

At her nod, I went on. “So when we came back here to get some things for the trip, Bitty – well. Rob had turned into Bitty, through a long and complicated process I'm not going to go into right now, and had killed people. Sam and Dean killed him, and buried him in the backyard, but after that I had to run. We finished the case up on Brown Mountain, but after that I had nowhere to go.” I shrugged. “So I moved in with them. I do research and occasionally bake for them, and there's another girl living there, a hacker. When we put our heads together, Charlie and I, there's pretty much no information we can't find.”

She nodded slowly, then smacked me on the top of the head. “Dammit, Katherine, why didn't you email or call or something! I was worried sick! I thought for sure that whatever had killed Rob had killed you too -” I tried to interrupt, but she was on a roll, and finally I just sat back and took it.

She was still going strong when we pulled up to her house, and Sam and Dean weren't even bothering to hide their sniggers anymore.

I finally cut her off with, “Mom, how long did the vamps have you?”

She looked at me, confused. “Three days, I think.” 

I exhaled in relief. “Okay, so you can say you got really sick or something and go back to your life.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No, I'm going with you.”

Exasperated, I said, “Mom! No! This is not a life you want, I promise. It's hard, and dangerous, and I never know if these two are going to come home safe. I don't want you involved. Please, go be safe.”

She was silent for a long minute, then nodded. “Fine. But you'd better call, you hear? I don't hear from you for more than two weeks, young lady, and I'm going to be very upset!”

“Yes, Mom,” I sighed, and finally decided I'd had enough of the laughter from the front. “What is so funny, boys?”

Dean gasped out between howls of laughter, “Usually you're lecturing us! I've never seen you on the receiving end before, and it's -” he dissolved into laughter again.

Sam finished his sentence, though. “It's freaking hysterical, is what it is, and I wish I'd recorded it to play it back for Charlie!”

“I'm going to fucking _kill_ you,” I growled, but my mom smacked me again.

“Katherine Elizabeth Whitaker! Language!”

“Sorry, Mom,” I said meekly, rubbing at the sore spot on my head. “Why don't you get inside before you accidentally become witness to a double murder?” She snorted and got out of the car, heading up her sidewalk to her door, and I watched as she unlocked it and stepped inside.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned to the boys. “So, the alpha said what?”

“Well, he was pissed at us for letting the Darkness out, like everyone is,” Sam said, “but he let us have his blood. He also told us he'd been watching your mom ever since you disappeared, because he knew you'd gone with us. He found you in Georgia, and was gonna make his move there, but we'd already cleared everything out and gone before he got there. That was when he started plans to kidnap your mom, assuming you were still in contact with her. It's lucky you emailed her when you did.”

I shivered at the narrow escape. “Yeah, it is. So that's two down, right? Well, three, cause Dean can cut himself whenever he wants. As a matter of fact, if he keeps snickering at me like he's doing right now, I'll fucking do it myself!”

“Language!” The boys chorused, then fell over laughing.

“For the love of – can we go home now?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Although he wasn't happy about it, Castiel handed over the First Blade, along with an angel blade, a few days after we got back from North Carolina. “I know that it's supposed to be useless without the Mark,” he said, “but this doesn't seem like a good idea.”

“Not to me either,” Sam said, nursing a beer as we all sat around the War Table. “But we have to have Lucifer's blood for that spell, and Crowley's the only way we can get it. We'll deal with him once the Darkness has been stuck back where She came from. Not to mention the full moon's tomorrow night, and if we don't get the blood tomorrow, the Darkness rampages for another month.”

Castiel collapsed into a chair and sighed, a surprisingly human sound. I'd heard stories about his time as a human, but I'd never actually seen him without his grace, and it was odd to see his angelic facade fall away. Abruptly he looked like nothing more than a very tired businessman. “I have other news, as well,” he said.

“What?” Dean said, his hand wrapped around his own beer.

Before Cas could answer, there was a fluttering of wings, and a short blond man appeared in the middle of the room. “Hiya, boys! Didja miss me?” the man, presumably an angel, said cheerfully.

“Him,” Castiel said unnecessarily, gesturing at the other angel. I looked over at the guys, and their jaws had dropped. I looked at Charlie, and she was obviously just as confused as I was. Before we could ask, though, Sam spoke.

“But – but you're dead,” he sputtered. “You were in the movie, with the girl, in the hotel -”

The shorter angel pointed at his chest and said simply, “Trickster.”

I interrupted. “Help out the newbies here, guys.”

When neither of the Winchesters seemed able to respond, Cas said, “This is Gabriel. He's an archangel, Michael and Lucifer's brother. For a while, he masqueraded as Loki, along with other trickster gods, but eventually come out of hiding when Michael and Lucifer began their battle.”

“You aren't doing me justice, Castiel!” Gabriel said, pouting. The dark-haired angel buried his face in his hands and appeared to be trying to block Gabriel out.

The blond angel looked at the boys, who were still trying to pull themselves together, then pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. “I don't believe we've met, beautiful,” he said, taking my hand and kissing the back. “What's your name?”

“I'm, um, I'm Kat,” I said, looking uncertainly back at Dean. 

Gabriel followed my gaze and smiled. “So Dean-O finally found himself a girl who'd stick around, huh? Good boy.” I blushed and pulled my hand away, but was saved from having to respond when he turned his attention to Charlie. “And you, gorgeous?” 

“I'm Charlie,” she replied, and before he could open his mouth, she added, “And you're so not my type.”

Gabriel looked offended at the forthright statement. “Well then, I suppose I'll just have to change your mind. What is it, exactly, that is not your type?”

Charlie looked him up and down, then gestured vaguely. “Just – you. Men.”

Gabriel laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, that's easy to fix!” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Scarlett Johansson was standing where the short blond man had been a second before.

The redhead's mouth dropped open. “Whoa,” she whispered. “Yeah, definitely changed my mind.”

Gabriel looked about to respond, but was distracted from it when suddenly, Sam burst out, “You're an archangel! What do you know about how to lock up the Darkness?”

Gabriel looked away and I relaxed, but tensed right back up when she started shouting. “First, I can't believe you idiots were _stupid_ enough to release Her! Don't you know what She is? She's primordial, not even mortal, and She _eats souls!_ ” She stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, then said, “Okay, now that that's out of my system, not much. I did some of the fighting to weaken Her enough to force Her into the cage, but God did the actual turning of the key. I think He left instructions on how to lock Her back up in the event some _moron_ let Her out, but I don't know where they are.”

I stood up and went into the library, emerging with the book on Coatlicue. “Here,” I said, pointing at the paragraph containing the spell. “Does this look right?”

Gabriel looked cursorily at the book, then looked taken aback and reread the paragraph carefully. “Yeah, actually,” she said slowly. “How did you boys even find this?”

Indignantly, I opened my mouth to respond, but Dean beat me to it. “We didn't; she did. You didn't think we brought her here just because she was cute, did you? Between her and Charlie, they can find out anything.”

Gabriel looked at me again, this time with a touch of respect. “Huh. What're smart girls like you doing in a bunker like this?” Clearly not expecting an answer, she turned her attention back to the book. “Oh, the Mexica tribe! Loved them. Was their coyote god for a while. But yes, this looks reasonably accurate. The ingredients are gonna be a bitch, though, and I'm sure there's an incantation that's not listed here.”

“We've got three,” Sam said, “the alpha, Crowley, and Dean. We're working on Lucifer, but Rowena's gonna be hard to convince. We may have to get her to do the spell, too, because I don't know of any other witches powerful enough to do something like this.”

Gabriel turned to Dean. “Rowena. Crowley's mommy, right? Do you bozos even know where she is?”

Dean was too busy staring at Gabriel's – Scarlett's – chest to pay any attention to him, and finally the angel sighed and snapped her fingers. The short guy was back, and I figured he was probably Gabriel's preferred vessel. “Dean. Rowena. Do you know where she is?”

Dean jumped and shook his head. “No damn idea. I got a bad feeling she's probably gonna find us, though. She's a little pissed about the last time she did a spell for us. Although, in my defense, I didn't want the spell done in the first place.”

Sam smacked the back of his head. “Shut up, dickhead.”

Gabriel sighed. “Ah, you two. Still the same.”

I smacked him too. “And don't think I didn't see you staring at Scarlett's chest, asshole.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head and scowled at me, while Gabriel, Sam, and Charlie burst out laughing.

Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention to Castiel, who had begun massaging circles on his temples. I thought about what had just occurred, mentally changed my evaluation of him from 'tired businessman' to 'tired babysitter,' and said, “So, Cas, is Gabriel actually useful?”

Cas looked up, but before he could answer, Gabriel jumped in indignantly. “I will have you know that I am immensely powerful!”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, you can trap two hunters in TV land for 24 hours, and you can make me relive Dean's death 102 times. Not really seeing how that can help trap the Darkness.”

“That was a tiny piece of my power!” Gabriel protested. “I'm an archangel. I can see into the future, I can grant invulnerability to mortals and angels alike, I can resurrect the dead – don't underestimate me, boys.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then at Castiel. “Cas, is all that true?” Sam asked.

The dark-haired angel looked up, still rubbing circles on his temples. “Yes. That's all accurate.”

Gabriel looked gratified, but Dean said, “Okay, hotshot, so how are you gonna help? Are you gonna make us all invulnerable to the Darkness?”

The trickster winced. “Ah, I'm afraid I can't do that. That would be – as blasphemous as this is – as impossible as trying to grant immunity from God.” Before Dean could say anything, Gabriel added, “What I can do, is tell you to keep an eye on the girls, here.” He gestured at Charlie and me, then closed his eyes.

Just when I could see Dean getting ready to yell at him, he opened them and the irises were glowing blue. When he spoke, I could feel the power in his words, and all doubts I'd had about the veracity of his claims to be an archangel vanished. “The King of Hell will seize the women you care about the day he brings you the blood of Lucifer, plucking them from this place and taking them away. He will remove the women to a location I cannot sense.” The glow slowly faded, and the power permeating the air disappeared as Gabriel returned to his seemingly harmless guise. “Wherever he'll be taking them, boys, it's got to be warded against angels, because I can't even get a clear idea of where this safehouse is.”

Dean was clearly stunned by this display of prognostication, and I wasn't much better, but Sam and Charlie immediately sprang into action. Sam pulled out his laptop and Charlie her tablet, and both began to toss theories back and forth about the location of the safehouse. When I recovered from my shock, I chimed in as well, saying “Why don't we have Cas or Gabriel go over a map, trying to sense the area, and if they -”

“I have a better idea,” Dean said firmly. He turned to Gabriel. “How often are these predictions true? I assume Lucifer, Michael, and Raphael could see the future, and we still kicked their asses.”

Gabriel considered, then said, “Events playing out exactly as I said? About 70%. The general gist of the prediction – the girls being kidnapped – about 95%. You and Sam got real lucky last time.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “So here's what we're gonna do. We are going to lock you two in the dungeon at twelve am the day we call Crowley.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Gabriel interrupted.

Dean shot him a glare. “Shut up, short stuff.” Gabriel clutched his chest, playing at being mortally wounded, while Dean continued to speak. “Then we're leaving you there until midnight that day. That will keep you safe during the day itself. After that neither of you goes anywhere without one of us, understand? Not until this is finished.”

I thought briefly about arguing, and I could see Charlie thinking the same thing, but we both decided it was a bad idea. “Yes, Dean,” we chorused.

“Well,” Sam said, “makes sense to me. When are we gonna call Crowley?”

“Tomorrow,” Dean said firmly. “We have the blades, and we need to get this done before sunrise in two days. Cas, are you and Gabe gonna be able to stick around?”

“Gabe? Really?” Gabriel whined, but Castiel nodded his head.

“Yes, we can stay until you've concluded your business with -” he spat out the last word “- _Crowley._ ”

“Oh!” I said, “Gabriel, you've got that whole cosmic awareness thing going on, right? Do you think you could maybe track down the incantation for that spell?”

He cocked his head. “Shouldn't be too hard,” he said, “now that I know the ingredients. Anything for you, sweetheart.” He blew me a kiss and vanished, and I put my hand to my unaccountably red cheek.

Dean stared at the spot where the angel had vanished and muttered something obscene under his breath, then turned to Charlie and me. “Well, ladies, I suggest you go pack a bag, since it's after eleven and you have less than an hour to get in the dungeon.”

Charlie and I groaned in unison, but as we turned to head for the bedrooms, Gabriel reappeared. “Well, that was quick,” Sam remarked.

Gabe shrugged. “Most powerful celestial being in existence. Well, except God.” He spread a piece of parchment out on the table. “I nicked this from the tomb of the last king of Rome. I'm pretty sure it's translated from Greek, which was itself translated from Celtic, but Latin is a powerful enough language it'll work.”

I leaned over and read the barely decipherable words shakily written on the parchment next to a drawing of a bowl of blood, a sunrise, and a black cloud.

_Creatura ab eterno_  
_Hoc est, non amplius saeculi_  
_Reversi sunt ad inanitatem_  
_Et cetera manent in aeternum_

“'Creature from before time, this is no longer your world. Return to the emptiness – or the empty? - and remain there for the rest of eternity,'” I translated, then looked up at the boys. “That's a loose translation, but it certainly sounds right, and the drawings are spot on.”

Gabriel took a little bow. “You're welcome, Hardy Boys,” he said snidely. “Now, it's 11:15, so if you plan to lock these girls up, I suggest you do it soon.” Charlie and I bolted for the bedrooms at Dean's glare.

I pulled my duffel out from under my bed and tried to think. I'd only been in the dungeon once, during a tour, and I couldn't remember if there were any outlets. Fortunately, both my phone and laptop were fully charged, so I stuffed them in the bag along with a change of clothes. I also grabbed two battery-powered lanterns, then just tossed books in until the bag was full. 

I dumped it at the door of the dungeon, then headed for the kitchen and grabbed snacks and water. While I was sure the boys wouldn't mean to forget about us during their meeting/fight with Crowley...well, they might forget about us. 

_Food, books, light, tech – am I missing anything?_ I stood at the door of the dungeon and looked inside, realizing that the furniture consisted of a table and chair from when Crowley had been locked up here. I quickly dashed back to the War Room and snatched a chair, running away before a bemused Dean or Sam could ask any questions.

I checked my phone. 11:45. _What else, what else...oh!_ I went back to my room and grabbed an armful of pillows and blankets, meeting up with Charlie as I returned to the dungeon door. She was also carrying an armful of bedding, and we laughed as we dumped it on the floor. “Ooh, a chair,” she said. “I totally forgot there was only one in here. I've got my laptop and phone, fully charged, and lots of books.”

“I've got some snacks,” I said, “And battery powered lanterns. You know, in case something dreadful happens.”

The hacker shuddered. “Don't even say that!”

Just then, Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway of the small storage room. “Are you ready?” Sam asked. 

Charlie and I took a deep breath, looked at each other, and I said, “Yeah. Let's go.”

Dean opened the door. “Okay. The sigils on the walls will keep you safe from demons, and one of us'll come by every couple of hours to take you to the bathroom.”

Charlie and I nodded mutely and grabbed our bags, the boys collecting the rest of our things as we filed into the warded room. “Now,” Dean said as Sam wandered out, “if we catch one of you leaving this room by yourselves or before midnight – well. Kat, you know what'll happen to you.” His eyes darkened in a familiar way, and I blushed as he turned his attention to Charlie. “And you, I'll take away every piece of technology I can find. Understand?”

“Dean, we aren't children,” Charlie said impatiently. “I think we can manage to stay in one room for twenty-four hours without messing it up.”

“Don't forget to feed Emmy,” I added. “I will shave your head in your sleep if you forget.”

Dean didn't look particularly worried, but backed out of the room. “Do you want the lights on or off?” he called from outside.

I looked at Charlie, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, and yelled, “Off!” The lights clicked off, and I pulled one of the lanterns out of my back by touch and turned it on.

“Kat!” Charlie said. “Why did you tell him to turn the lights off? We can't read, we can't -”

“Because we both need sleep,” I replied firmly. “Let's make a nest out of this stuff and see if we can sleep at least a little, okay?”

It looked like she was going to argue with me for a moment, but eventually she said, “Yeah, I am tired. Let's at least try.”

We spent about fifteen minutes creating a bed on the floor, padding it with pillows and blankets, and then we snuggled in and turned off the lantern. “Good thing we're so comfortable with each other,” I muttered, “or this would get really awkward.” Just as I said that, I felt a hand grab my ass, and I yelped. “Dammit, Charlie!” She laughed, and eventually we did relax enough to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A click woke me up, and I poked my head blearily out of the blankets to see the dungeon door opening. Charlie's head rose up beside mine, and we could just make out a huge form silhouetted in the doorway. “Aren't you two adorable?” came Sam's amused voice, and I made a face at him. “Do you need to pee?” Charlie and I both nodded. “Well, come on then,” he urged, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “God, I should take a picture of you. It really is cute. Dean would love it.”

I yawned and climbed out of the blankets, giving Charlie a hand to heave herself up after me. “What time is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. 

Sam checked his watch. “About eight. Dean and I checked on you every two hours or so, but this is the first time you woke up.”

“Look, Kat,” Charlie said. “Only sixteen more hours of -” she yawned so hard her jaw cracked “- being locked in an eight-foot-square room to look forward to!”

We trotted along behind Sam, both of us having to take two steps to his one, until we arrived at the multi-stalled bathroom off the kitchen. I opened the door to let Charlie in, but when Sam made a move to follow her, I glared. “Pretty sure no one is going to kidnap us in here,” I said. “There are no windows, the building's warded, and you're standing at the only door. Stay.”

Sam looked conflicted for a moment, then stepped back. “Be quick. If Dean finds out I let you out of my sight, he'll chop my balls off in my sleep.” I snorted and ducked into the bathroom.

Business taken care of, we followed Sam back to the dungeon. “I feel like a duckling,” Charlie whispered.

I giggled, making Sam turn around and ask, “What's funny?” I shook my head, but when he turned back around, Charlie _quacked_ under her breath.

This time we both started laughing, still stumbling along behind Sam as we snickered. “What?” he asked, stopping and turning around again. “What is so funny?”

Charlie _quacked_ quietly again, and this time I had to bend over and put my hands on my knees to keep from falling over. “It's stress,” I gasped out. “Just a bad reaction to stress.” I wiped my eyes and recovered enough to keep moving, this time making it all the way back to the dungeon. As we walked in, Charlie let out one last loud _QUACK_ and I gave up and sat down on the floor, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

“Is that what was so funny?” Sam said, hands on his hips. “You're being ducks? Really? Two of the smartest women in the world, and you're this easily amused.”

Unable to speak from laughter, Charlie threw a copy of _The Color of Magic_ at him in indignation. Sam caught it, said, “Just so you know, I'm not giving this back,” then slammed the dungeon doors behind him as best he could.

Once we recovered, Charlie looked vaguely alarmed. “Oh no,” she said, “I think that was your book I threw.”

“It's okay,” I replied, “it was Terry Pratchett. It's not like his books are in short supply. Or I could always lock Sam's phone and not tell him the password till he gives it back.” Charlie snickered.

We sat against the wall for a while, then Charlie said, “Wanna watch a movie?”

We managed to burn eight hours marathoning all three of the new Star Trek movies and snacking, only interrupted by one of the boys sticking their head in every two hours to see if we needed anything. Just as we finished, Dean came in the door. “Okay,” he said, “the exchange with Crowley is going down in ten minutes. I'm leaving you with these,” he handed us each a handgun, “they have silver bullets dipped in holy water in them. It'll be enough to hold off any demon minions who somehow manage to get through those doors, and it'll kill most anything else.” He looked at us both. “We'll come back as soon as it's done to let you know, okay?”

Charlie nodded, and I kissed him on the cheek. “Be safe,” I said softly, and he turned and left the room.

We sat there for a moment, then I said, “We need to do something, otherwise we'll just sit here and worry.” I thought for a moment, then decided on a tried-and-true method of distraction. “Let's watch Doctor Who.”

We cued up the first episode of season ten (“I didn't watch it while you were gone,” Charlie confessed. “It felt weird.”) and settled in. The Doctor and his new companion were just stepping out of the TARDIS onto some sort of purple grass, when - 

BANG! The dungeon doors slammed open to reveal a woman silhouetted against the light from the outside. I immediately pulled the gun out of my lap and fired, Charlie doing the same, but the woman flung out her hands and the bullets ricocheted into the walls. We dropped the empty guns, backing away from the woman, but she followed us. I could feel malice rolling off her, and Charlie and I drew closer to each other in fear. The woman threw something on the ground, then grabbed both our arms and shouted in Latin.

I blinked, and we were standing in an abandoned warehouse, the windows painted with angel-repelling sigils. There was a table in the middle of the room, piled high with books, scrolls, and a large bronze bowl. The woman let go of our arms and dusted off her hands, like they were dirty, and said in a thick Scottish accent, “There, Fergus, you have the girls.”

Charlie and I whirled, still staying close together, to see Crowley standing in a dark corner. “Thanks,” he replied, before turning his attention to us. “Now,” he said, “I need that one over here and that one over there.” 

Before Charlie and I could react, the woman had flicked her fingers and we were both pressed against the walls. Crowley wandered over to Charlie like he had all the time in the world, looking her up and down, before gesturing. A metal cuff appeared around her wrist, attaching her to the floor; she had just enough leeway to kneel and move a few inches, but she wasn't going anywhere. 

Then the witch snapped her fingers, and Charlie clawed at her throat. I shrieked and tried to reach for her, fighting the invisible hand holding me to the wall, but the witch said irritably, “Hush, child. She's alive.” 

The witch was right. Charlie was still breathing, not turning blue or displaying any signs of respiratory distress. When she opened her mouth to scream, though, no sound came out. Finally, Charlie subsided onto the floor as Crowley observed dispassionately.

When he turned and headed towards me, I tried to struggle, to pull away, but the magic was too strong. I was forced to stay still while he examined me, turning my head from side to side and eyeing my body impersonally. I tried to bite him, but he just gripped my jaw harder until I stopped and let out a moan of pain, then flicked the fingers of his free hand. I felt the metal appear around my wrist and the force holding me to the wall disappear as I was dragged to the floor.

Suddenly, a flash of memory came to me: Dean's voice, saying _“She kind of – exudes power, and she's hard to miss. Red hair, slinky black dress, pure evil, you know the type.”_ I looked the witch over, and sure enough, she matched the description. Well, slinky red dress, but close enough. 

She was paging through a book, not paying any attention to the King of Hell, when I looked past him and asked, “Are you Rowena?”

She looked back at me. “Someone's been telling stories. Yes, little girl, I'm Rowena. Are you afraid of me?” she asked softly. An atavistic fear was making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I was pretty sure bravado would get me nowhere. I nodded, and she smiled the smile of a cat with a mouse. “Good. You should be. But don't worry, no one's going to hurt you.”

Turning away, she called over her shoulder, “Well, not until the Winchesters get here.” Then she snapped her fingers, and I could feel my throat close. I instinctively clawed at it, like Charlie had, then relaxed as I realized I could still breathe.

I inspected the cuff, thinking about the paper clip I had in my pocket and the rudimentary lock-picking skills I had learned from Dean, but there was no lock on the cuff. There wasn't even an obvious seam where the ends of the cuff met, making me think that Crowley had formed them entirely out of thin air. _Crap. I didn't know he could do shit like that._

I wrapped my arms around my knees, and waited for something to happen, feeling like a damsel in distress and hating it. Unfortunately, there was nothing anywhere near me like a weapon, I couldn't communicate with Charlie, and Rowena was standing in the middle of the room. We were bait in a trap for Sam and Dean, just like the vamps had wanted to use me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.


	19. Torture, Miracles, and Men Who Ought to Quit Yelling at Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! I try to keep two chapters ahead so that if I change my mind, I can go back and edit without having to change something already published, but I'm really fighting with this last chapter. And my master's capstone is due on Friday, so I'm losing my mind over that...
> 
> Allow me to distract myself with Kat and Dean and Sam and Crowley and Rowena and Charlie!

I don't know how long we waited, but when a faint  _BOOM_ sounded in the distance, the sun had been down for hours. Crowley exchanged satisfied smiles with Rowena, then took two small stoppered bottles out of his jacket and handed them to her, saying, “Be careful with those. They cost me five of my best demons.” Then he handed her a third one. “This one's mine. Do try not to curse me into oblivion on your way out this time.”

The witch rolled her eyes and said, “It's not my first time doing this sort of thing, you know. And no promises, dearie.” Crowley snorted and disappeared.

Rowena dumped the contents of all the bottles into the bronze bowl, then slit her palm and dripped blood into it herself. When she opened her hand, the cut was gone, and she too stood up and vanished into thin air.

I gasped, albeit silently.  _Shit_ . They'd gotten their hands on the spell too, and I bet they weren't willing to risk that the Impala's transmission fluid would do the trick.

A few minutes later, Dean kicked in the door. He saw Charlie and me, chained to the floor, and entered carefully. We were both kneeling, as far up as we could get, and gesturing frantically for him to leave. Seeing nothing obvious and clearly ignoring our signals, he ran towards me and immediately began examining the chain and cuff. “What's happening?” he asked, discovering, just as I had, that the cuff had no lock. “Who brought you here?”

When I didn't answer, he looked up at me in confusion. I was clutching my throat and mouthing words, and he said, “Oh God, witches. Rowena?” I nodded frantically, and he cursed. “Fuck. I can't get you out of these and Cas can't even get in the building. There were two places that Gabe couldn't sense, and -”

I looked over his shoulder and my eyes widened as Crowley, flanked by two lesser demons, drawled from by the table, “Gabe? As in Gabriel? I was under the impression that Lucifer had killed him. Well, isn't that interesting.”

Dean spun and pulled an angel blade out of his coat, but Crowley flicked his fingers and this time it was Dean who fell to his knees with a cuff around his wrist. The blade skittered uselessly across the floor, coming to a stop about three feet outside of Charlie's reach.

When Crowley produced a dagger and a small glass bottle, then advanced on Dean, I gave a silent scream and pulled hard against the chain. It did nothing to distract the demon, who cut a long line across Dean's forearm and let bright red blood drip into the bottle. When the container was full, he dumped its contents into the bronze bowl to join the other ingredients of the spell.

He looked up just in time to see Rowena appear behind Dean. “Fergus,” she hissed, “the other one's not here!”

“What?” Crowley said in shock. “But they're always together! Rocky and Bullwinkle! Thelma and Louise! The fucking Bobbsey twins!”

“Well, they aren't this time,” the witch snarled at her son, “and we have to have someone this one loves to do the spell. Not only that, but we only have three hours till we _have_ to complete it!”

The conversation was interrupted by a dry laugh from Dean. “What's so funny, Squirrel?” Crowley demanded, stalking over to him.

“Well,” Dean said, “Sam's five hours away by car, and only Cas and I know where he is. You could go outside and talk to Cas, try to somehow convince him to tell you where Sam is, but I would like to remind you that Cas is now an angel in full control of his powers. Or you could let us go. Your choice.”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply angrily, but then closed it thoughtfully. “Or you could tell us where Sam is,” he said, “and we'll go get him.”

“Why in hell would I tell you where he is?” Dean snarled at the demon.

“Because I'm going to...inspire you.”

Dean snorted in disbelief. “You really think you can torture me into telling you where Sam is? Please.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, Squirrel. I never said anything about torturing  _you_ .”

He began to slowly walk towards me, readjusting his fingers on the knife. “Mother,” he shot over his shoulder, “let the chit's voice go. I want him to hear her scream.” From Dean's angle, he couldn't see whether the demon was threatening Charlie or me, despite all the frantic head-turning and spine-twisting he was doing

I felt the pressure on my throat relax, but paid no attention to it. My entire awareness was wrapped up in Crowley's advance, my mind alternating between gibbering in fear and raging that he would use me against Dean like this.  _Stay quiet_ , a tiny voice in my head whispered.  _Don't let Crowley use you like this. Don't let Dean know how much it hurts._

I gathered my wits and took a deep breath as Crowley crouched down in front of me. “The louder you scream, the faster this will be over with,” he said, lifting my chin with the tip of his knife. “Make sure he knows how much I'm hurting you.”

I spat in his face.

He froze in shock for a moment, before pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his cheek. “Aren't you supposed to be smart?” he asked quietly. “Making the man holding a knife to you angry doesn't seem very smart to me.” Then, with no warning, he sliced a deep gash down my ribs, and I sucked in a soundless breath.

“Huh,” the demon said, tilting his head and looking at me. “Well then. This is going to be fun. I could do this without even touching you, but there's a certain appeal to having my hands covered with blood, and the personal touch is always best. Don't you agree?” The chain holding me to the floor disappeared, and the demon hauled me to my feet and gestured towards the ceiling.

Another cuff, identical to the first, appeared around my other arm. I heard a rattle from above me and looked up just in time to see a chain descending from the ceiling, connecting with the cuffs and jerking my arms above my head. I tugged on the restraints, but of course there was no give, and I looked at Crowley with frightened eyes.

“Well,” he said, adjusting his grip on the dagger, “shall we begin?”

An hour later, I was covered with cuts and blood and hadn't so much as moaned. _Good thing I cut myself so much_ , I thought dazedly as Crowley sliced into my hip again. _Lots of practice at not making noise, so the parents and roommates wouldn't know_.

I could see Dean, slumped over on the floor at the feet of Crowley's minions. At the beginning, he'd cursed and threatened and tried to jerk loose from the chains, but a few judicious punches and kicks from the lesser demons had stilled him.

He was now clearly trying so hard to ignore the sound of blood dripping on the floor and the vicious taunts Crowley and Rowena were throwing at him. “Letting an innocent girl be tortured,” Rowena was sneering now. “Poor child, and you say she's your friend. Och! I'd hate to see the way you treat someone you don't care about!”

Crowley made a frustrated noise. “We're not getting anywhere with this, are we?” he said to me, too low for Dean to hear. “Let's try something new.” One cuff disappeared, and my left hand fell to my side. Crowley pinned it to the wall, palm out, and I quickly realized what he planned to do. I looked up at him with wide eyes and tried my best to jerk my hand away, but I couldn't break his grip as he brought his dagger down into my palm point-first.

I screamed. I couldn't help it. It felt like my arm was on fire, my chest collapsing, the nerves in my hand sending distress signals to half my body. Every time I'd start to get a handle on the pain and quiet the shrieks into sobs, Crowley would twist the knife, and I'd scream again.

Finally, just when I thought I was about to pass out from the agony, Dean said, “Stop.”

Rowena leaned down and said mockingly, “I'm sorry, dearie, I didn't hear you.”

“I said stop, you bitch! Stop hurting her! I'll tell you where Sam is!”

Crowley jerked the knife out of my hand, prompting one last shriek. He flicked his fingers and the chains disappeared, allowing me to fall to the floor and curl into the fetal position around my hand. _Oh god it hurts ithurtsithurtsithurtsmakeitstopmakeitstop..._

I almost missed Dean pleading, “Please, let me just look at her, let me bandage her up. Please!”

“A Winchester, begging?” Crowley sounded delighted. “Very well, since you asked so nicely. Try to go anywhere but to her, though, and you'll be chained to the floor again.”

A few seconds later, I was in Dean's arms and he was tearing strips off the bottom of my tank top. “Shh, shhh,” he said, ripping them all into more-or-less uniform length. “It's okay. This is gonna hurt, Kat, I'm so sorry.” I shook my head in denial, but he wrapped a strip around my palm anyway, then tightened it and tied a knot. I whimpered and buried my head in his chest as the horrible pain was renewed.

He bandaged a few of the deeper cuts before Rowena said, “A deal's a deal. Where's your brother?”

Dean looked up at them with blazing eyes. “As if I would ever tell you how to find him,” he hissed. “You fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “Fergus, I think he needs a little more inspiration.”

Crowley looked at Dean and I, me with my face buried in his chest, him with his arms wrapped around me protectively, and shook his head slowly. “No,” the demon said, “I don't think that will be necessary.”

“What?” Rowena said, but Crowley had already gestured and ripped Dean away from me, pinning him against a wall.

“You, girl. Get up and come over here,” he ordered. I shook my head, curling further in on myself.

I heard Rowena suck in a breath. “He's in love with her?” the witch asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Probably why she didn't scream. Didn't want him to know it was her I was cutting on, knew it'd make him give in sooner.” He looked over at me and gave a sadistic grin. “Too bad, sweetheart. Didn't work out as well as you hoped.”

I heard Dean snort. “Really? I'm practically famous for not caring about anything but my brother, but you think I've fallen in love with some civilian?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You're a terrible actor, Winchester.” He returned his attention to me. “Come here, whore, or I'll break your boyfriend's neck.”

I looked over at Dean, pressed helplessly against the wall but subtly shaking his head at me, and didn't move. _If I get up, it'll prove to Crowley that he's right, or at least that I'm in love with Dean._ Crowley sighed in disgust and twitched his fingers, slowly twisting Dean's head unnaturally far to the right. I could see Dean bracing himself, trying not to display pain, but finally he let out a groan.

Ignoring Dean's less and less subtle hints to stay where I was, I worked my way to my feet. I began slowly stumbling towards Crowley and the table, keeping my injured arm clutched to my chest, until he hissed impatiently and gestured to one of his minions. The demon came over to me and grabbed my injured arm, prompting a cry of pain. As he began to drag me towards the table, I could hear Dean yelling, “No! Stop it, you filthy piece of demonic shit! Let her go! I will _kill_ you, I swear to God!”

When we reached the altar, the demon jerked me against it, gripping my hair to hold my head steady over the bowl. Giving into my self-preservation instincts, I fought him, pulling against his hand, kicking out behind me, trying to reach his eyes with my fingers, but all to no avail. “Mother,” I heard Crowley say, “would you care to do the honors? Stop fighting him, girl, or your lover and the other one die too.”

“Thank you for offering, Fergus,” Rowena said sweetly. I could still vaguely hear Dean yelling in the distance, but all my awareness had focused down to where I felt the sharp edge of a knife against my throat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, praying to a God I wasn't sure existed, as I felt a bite of pain and then warm liquid running down my chest. As my life drained away and everything faded to black, I heard Rowena intone, “ _Creatura ab eterno..._ ”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was bright, wherever I was, and warm. I looked around, squinting, but all I could see was a vague whiteness around me, lit by a vague warm light. I didn't really know what was going on, but I was happy and serene, so it didn't matter.

I started walking aimlessly, no real intentions, just moving for the sake of moving. As I walked, the foggy whiteness seemed to lift, until I was walking along a trail surrounded by trees with changing leaves. I looked to the side of the trail and saw mountains, blue rolling hills that seemed to scream “home.”

As the fog continued to dissolve, I saw at the end of the trail a cabin. When I reached it and opened the door, I saw that it was filled with books. Shelves lined every wall, and there was a huge armchair in the middle of the floor. A small table beside it held a mug of tea, still steaming, and a lamp that gave off warm yellow light.

As I walked in, I realized that the cabin had to be bigger on the inside. That phrase stirred something in my mind, flashes of red hair and laughter, before I shook my head and continued exploring. There was a full kitchen, stocked with everything I would need to bake whatever I wanted, and a bedroom dominated by an enormous bed covered with a lilac spread.

As I made my way back to the library, something rubbed against my calf and I looked down. A gray tabby cat was winding its way between my ankles, purring and looking right at home. I bent down to pet it, noticing that it was a she, and asked her, “Where am I, kitty?”

“Heaven,” a solemn voice behind me replied. I turned, somehow not surprised, and saw a short blond man standing in the doorway.

I cocked my head. “So I'm dead?” I asked, the answer to the question not seeming to matter much.

“Yes,” he answered, and I could see sadness in his eyes.

I shrugged. “Okay.” I turned back to looking at the bookshelves, seeing all my favorite books and all the ones I'd always wanted to read, but never gotten a chance to.

“Kat,” the man persisted. “There's something I need to tell you.”

“Go for it,” I replied absently, stroking a first edition of _David Copperfield_.

“Katherine,” the voice said, this time much closer, and I turned to see that the man was now standing right behind me. “What do you remember?”

“I don't,” I said, that fact not seeming to matter either. “I know who I am and what I like, but I woke up in this kind of white fog and then came here.”

The man sighed. “I am so sorry,” he said, then put two fingers to my forehead.

My head snapped back.

… “ _It was a vampire.”..._

_...“Do you know anything about the Brown Mountain Lights?”..._

_...“Is that a finger bone?”..._

_...“You let a five-foot-four girl punch you?” …_

… “ _You're staying.” …_

… “ _You're beautiful, Kat.” …_

… “ _Excuse me, are you Castiel?” …_

… “ _I can't. Believe. You touched. BABY.” …_

… “ _I think I'm leaning towards Dean on this one.” …_

… “ _If we do this, we do it right.” …_

… “ _Promise me you'll never do anything to your hair, okay?” …_

… “ _I can't stand – I can't stand to think about you getting hurt.” …_

… “ _Will you take me shopping?” …_

… “ _Topeka.” …_

… _I'm sorry. …_

… “ _Hello, kitten.”_

… “ _Dean, I fell in love with you!” …_

… “ _You stupid girl, I love you too.” …_

… “ _So are we gonna have this chick flick moment and hug it out, or what?” …_

… “ _Crowley has a mother?” …_

… “ _Dean, let's go home.” …_

… “ _The Native Americans knew exactly what the Darkness was.” …_

… “ _Let me read you the list of ingredients.” …_

… _We have your mother. …_

… “ _Well, who is this gorgeous little thing?” …_

… “ _Trickster.” …_

… “ _Do you think you could maybe track down the incantation for that spell?” …_

… “ _There, Fergus, you have the girls.” …_

… “ _The louder you scream, the faster this will be over with.” …_

… “ _I said stop, you bitch! Stop hurting her!” …_

… “ _Stop fighting him, girl, or your lover and the other one die too.” …_

… “ _Creatura ab eterno...” …_

I staggered away from the man – _Gabriel_ – and collapsed onto the floor, breathing raggedly. He stood there, looking down at me sadly, as I struggled to catch my breath. “Why?” I said, looking up at him tearfully. “Why did you do that? I was happy! I'm dead! Why do I need to remember people I'm never going to see again?”

The archangel crouched down in front of me. “Because I need you to be fully informed before you answer this question,” he said softly.

When he didn't continue, I looked at him blankly. “What question?”

Gabriel took a deep breath. “Do you want to go back? I can do it, you know. The only being left that can. I can bring you back, give you back your life. Think carefully before you answer, though. That life will be hard, full of loss and pain. I can't see what will happen to you,” he smiled wryly, “and I wouldn't tell you if I could, but being alive is much, much more difficult than being dead. If you stay, everyone you love will eventually come to you.”

Then he swallowed. “I shouldn't be telling you this, but...Dean asked me to come. I told him it would be your choice, but that I would ask.” He looked at me expectantly.

I sat there in shock. How was I supposed to make this decision? Here I could be happy, comfortable, and wait for my parents, my brother, Dean, and all my other loved ones to join me. Or I could go back to a world full, as Gabriel had said, of loss and pain, and live out a life that would probably be short. _But...you'd be with Dean, and Sam, and everyone else you love_.

I looked up at Gabriel. “How am I – what do I do?” I asked plaintively.

“Oh, Kat,” he sighed. “You know I can't answer that. But I'll tell you this, even though I shouldn't – if you stay here, stay gone, Dean will become more and more reckless. Sam, Charlie, and Castiel will try to hold him back, but he'll fling himself into dangerous situations over and over, not realizing he's trying to see you again.”

I took a deep breath. “Well then. I don't see that I really have a choice.” I looked the angel in the eyes. “If it will keep Dean alive longer, to save more people, I have to go back.”

Gabriel exhaled, then placed his hand on my cheek. “I was hoping you'd say that,” he breathed, and everything went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was lying on a soft surface on my back, arms at my sides, legs straight. I cracked my eyelids, then shut them again at the blindingly bright light.

“Ow,” I rasped, and suddenly there were hands all over me and voices babbling above my head.

“She's alive!”

“Oh my God -”

“Gabriel, I'm think I'm going to kiss you.”

“I thought I wasn't your type?”

“Everybody shut up and move back!”

At Dean's voice, I risked opening my eyes again and saw him hovering over me, silhouetted in the bright light. “Lights.” I said hoarsely. “Bright.”

He turned his head and snapped, “Turn off the lights,” to someone behind him. I heard a click and then the room was flooded with blessed darkness, and I peeled my eyes open all the way.

“Hey there,” Dean said softly, hesitantly placing a hand against my cheek. I nuzzled into it and heard him heave a sigh of relief. “How are you feeling?”

“Achy,” I said, then turned my head and glared at a shadow that looked like Gabriel. “You can resurrect me, but you can't make sure _every single muscle in my body_ doesn't hurt?” I was still in shock, remembering being in Heaven – _holy shit I was dead_ – and I was going to snark at Gabriel to distract myself.

I saw the shadow throw up its hands. “Do you even remember the state you were in? There's no pleasing some people,” the archangel muttered, and I grinned.

“Come here, angel.” Gabriel moved closer to the bed, and I forced myself to sit up. Dean fluttered around me like some kind of mother hen, but I ignored him until I was completely upright.

Then I flung my arms around the blond angel. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear. “For giving me the choice.”

He pulled back and kissed me on the forehead. “You're welcome. Just don't go dying anymore, okay? Dean was a pain the ass the ten hours you were gone.”

I stretched, wincing as the muscles in my back and arms pulled. “So, did I die for nothing? Is the Darkness gone?” _Holy shit I died._

“Yeah,” Sam said, his enormous figure emerging out of the darkness as he approached the bed. “Rowena finished the spell before Gabe and I got there.”

“Well?” I asked impatiently, when he didn't continue. “What happened?”

“Let me tell you from the beginning,” Dean said. “But first, lay back down.”

“Fine.” I flopped down onto the pillows.

“So Rowena...finished the spell,” Dean said. I could see him swallow as he remembered the scene. “It was like the world sort of – twisted, then came back upright, and it felt like something was yanked out of my gut by the roots. Rowena looked very pleased with herself for a second, and then she turned on Crowley. I think he must have been expecting it, because his demons had gotten behind her while she was doing the spell. While they were fighting, Crowley lost control of his spell and dropped me and lost Charlie's chains, but I was useless. It was like I couldn't – I dunno. I couldn't move. I could barely talk, but I did manage to tell Charlie to start breaking windows to destroy the angel warding. Cas knew that if I was in there for too long to go get Sam, and they showed up with Gabe when she finished destroying the angel sigils. Then I passed out.”

“All three of us busted in just in time to see Crowley put a knife through his mother's heart,” Sam picked up. “Then he sort of backed away, like he couldn't believe he'd actually killed her. We tried to get to him before he could get away, but...” he sighed. “He did that thing where he just disappears into thin air. We killed the minions, but Crowley's still out there.”

“Uh,” Gabriel interrupted. “About that. I intercepted him on his way out. I can't kill him, of course, but I put him back in that dungeon of yours. He's not locked into the chains, but the traps should hold him until you can get him more secure, or kill him, whichever. I've been keeping an eye on him.”

Charlie got distracted for a minute. “How have you been keeping an eye on him? You've either been with us or with Kat the whole time since we left that warehouse!”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Not an actual eye. God, you humans. So literal. A...metaphysical eye, so to speak.”

“Anyway,” Sam said, “It took Dean a bit to wake up, and when he did, he flipped on Gabriel. Told him to go get you, he knew he could, angels had done it before, and after a few hours of yelling back, Gabe went.” I shot another smile at the archangel, and he grinned back. “He was gone for like five hours, and we figured you were fighting him or something.”

“No,” I said, “He was pouring my life back into my head. I'd pretty much forgotten everything but my name. Then I was yelling at him, then he was telling me things he shouldn't have told me, then I woke up.”

“I would tell you not to share those things with anyone else, but I'm not going to bother,” the archangel groused. “It's not worth the grace to wipe your memory, and there's no one to call me to account for it, so...”

“Thanks, Gabe,” I said softly. He simply smiled back, then was gone with a flutter of wings. I heard his voice echo in my head: _Think carefully before you tell, though._

Dean blinked, once, twice, then shook his head. “Okay then,” he said. “Well, to sum up, Rowena's dead, you're alive, the Darkness is gone, and Crowley is apparently locked in our dungeon.”

“I want to see him,” I said, and began easing my way off the bed.

“What? No way!” Dean exclaimed. “You were dead an hour ago! You stay in bed until -”

“And how long did you stay in bed after you woke up a demon?” I snapped back. “None! You ran off with Crowley and started drinking and fighting and sleeping around! I think I can handle a walk to the dungeon!”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam beat him to the punch. “Can you wait until Dean, Cas, and I get him restrained?”

I considered, then said, “Yeah. That's probably a good idea, actually. And I need to change clothes. I'm covered in – yeah.”

The men nodded. Dean gave me a kiss and got up and headed towards the door, while Sam took the opportunity of his brother getting up to give me a hug. Cas just laid an awkward hand on my shoulder before he left the room.

After they were gone and I'd put on clean jeans and a top, Charlie emerged from her corner and sat down on the bed. She just sat there, looking at me, and after a bit I got uncomfortable. “Uh, Charlie,” I started, but then she wrapped her arms around me and burst into tears.

_Okay_ ... I returned the hug and sat there with her, making vague soothing noises, until she pulled back and sat up.

“I'm sorry,” she sniffled. “I just – I _watched_ you _die_. I can't believe you're sitting here, being rude to angels, and snapping at Dean, and – and – and breathing!”

“Yeah, well, you aren't the only one,” I said. “I remember my Heaven, you know? It was a cabin in the mountains filled with books, and baking supplies, and a cat. The only thing -” I stopped and took a deep breath. “The only thing it was missing was Dean. Gabriel told me I could stay, and wait for y'all to come to me, but – I couldn't.”

Charlie wiped her eyes. “For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't,” she said softly.

I smiled at her. “Me too.”


	20. Conversations, Confrontations, and the Man I Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! There was my capstone, and when I finished that, I got about halfway through this chapter with no trouble. Then it was the week before Thanksgiving and my family kept calling me trying to make holiday plans and have you ever tried to write a sex scene right after you get off the phone with your grandmother? Not actually possible.

When Dean opened the door, Charlie had fallen asleep with her head in my lap, and I was stroking her hair.

“What happened here?” he whispered, gesturing to the sleeping girl.

“She had a meltdown,” I whispered back. “Hardly unexpected.”

He frowned. “I'd expect you to be the one having the meltdown.”

I shrugged. “Give it time.” I slowly edged Charlie's head off my lap and onto the bed, sliding out from under her, and gave a sigh of relief as I stood up and she continued sleeping. “Y'all got Crowley locked up?”

“Yes, but -” Dean began, but I held a finger to my lips and gestured towards the door.

Once we were outside the room, he continued. “I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to see him. This close to – well, you might – look, we need to keep him alive, okay? He still controls Hell, regardless of if we have him locked up or not, and better the devil you know and all that. Not to mention, he can give us names of demons that're on Earth.”

Instead of giving into the fury that immediately raced through me at Dean's statement, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Yes, Crowley had tortured me. Yes, he had killed me. _Well, essentially. By proxy._ And oh, how I wanted to return the favor. But – if it had come down to it, if I had had to sacrifice myself to rid the world of the Darkness, I would have done it. There would have been much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but I would have done it willingly. So, really, Crowley hadn't done anything to me I wouldn't have done to myself. Besides, if he was locked up in the bunker, I was pretty sure Sam and Dean wouldn't mind me tossing holy water on him occasionally.

“Okay,” I said as I opened my eyes. “I understand your point. I promise I won't do anything fatal to him. I know he's more valuable alive, but I still want to see him. Yell at him, throw things...you got any holy water I can borrow? Maybe a knife?”

Dean blinked at me in shock. “You're just going to agree with me?”

I shrugged. “Well, you're right. You can do more good with him locked up here than if he's dead. I promised Sam I'd quit being so selfish, not to mention – well, I won. He killed me, or had me killed, but I didn't stay dead.”

“Well, when you put it that way... hang on. Since when are you into torturing demons?”

“Since they fucking killed me!” I snapped in response.

Dean looked slightly taken aback, then shrugged and took my hand. “Fair enough. I'm not letting you hurt him, though,” he said as we walked towards room 7B.

“Why not?” I asked angrily, stopping dead in my tracks.

“Because you're not – you don't -” he sighed and let go of my hand to run his fingers through his hair in sudden agitation. “You're one of the few pure things in my life, all right? I don't want you to do the awful things that me and Sam do. When you torture someone, cause that kind of pain, it changes you. It makes you into someone else. It would make you into someone you wouldn't like, Kat.” Dean's voice lowered, until I had to strain to hear him. “It made me into someone I don't like.”

If I was honest with myself, I knew that he had a point; I had never caused anyone pain like that before, at least not deliberately. Acknowledging that didn't lessen my desire to hurt Crowley, though, and I spat at Dean, “I don't care! His mother _killed_ me, Dean, and he fucking helped! Rowena may be beyond my revenge, but her son isn't. In fact, you've got him trussed up in there like he's waiting for me. So now you're going to spout some bullshit at me about how torturing someone will change me? I don't give a shit. I think that fact that I've been kidnapped by two guys who wanted me to help them kill a ghost, accepted the fact that demons and angels are real, discovered that the universe's most evil power was unleashed on the world by my boyfriend, killed for a magic spell, then raised from the dead by the fucking _archangel Gabriel_ is a lot of change all by itself, don't you?”

“Exactly,” he said quietly, refusing to raise his voice to match mine. “You've already been dragged into this mess, and I'm sorry. Sometimes I wish Sam and I had never followed up on your name in Bobby's book, or that we hadn't offered to bring you back here, or I hadn't come after you in Georgia.” He swallowed and looked at the ground, then looked back up at me. “But Kat, I love you. You've made this life tolerable, instead of the endless round of death and pain and evil it had become. Maybe it's selfish, but I don't want you to be like me and Sam. I want you to stay you. I _need_ you to stay you. Even with the depression and anxiety, you're a – a ray of fucking sunshine in this bunker, okay?” 

I couldn't help it. I snickered. “A ray of fucking sunshine, huh?”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled, blushing scarlet and looking at the floor.

I sighed, momentary diversion gone. “Dean, I understand where you're coming from, I do. But I'm an adult, and we've had this conversation before. You can't order me around. As much as I love you, this is something I need to do, and I need you to understand that.” His jaw clenched, but he nodded sharply and started walking again.

I noticed he didn't take my hand this time.

When we arrived at the doors of the dungeon, Dean stopped and turned to face me. “I'm going to go in first, okay? Make sure the chains are locked and all that. Wait for me to finish securing him before you come in.” I nodded in agreement, and he took a deep breath and shoved open the doors.

Flicking one of the light switches by the door, Dean illuminated the dungeon in a much dimmer light than the one in the outer room. “Hiya, Crowley. How ya doin'?”

“Just great,” the demon responded cheerily as Dean dropped his weapons on the table and moved around the chair, yanking on chains and checking padlocks. “How are you? How's your girlfriend? Oh wait, I forgot, she's _dead_.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Dean said, jerking on the last chain and nodding towards the door.

I took a deep breath, then walked in the dungeon. “I'm great, thanks for asking. You know, I hate it when my murderer doesn't check on my health after my death. It's so rude, don't you think?”

I could see the demon king's face freeze in shock before sputtered, “What the _fuck_ – but – I – you – you're _dead!_ Are you a Winchester now? Does Death just pick you up and throw you back?” 

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” I replied in a disinterested voice. “So. Sam and Dean tell me you're more valuable alive than dead, and I suppose I have to believe them.” 

The sight of him was affecting me more than I had thought it would; I was having brief, split-second flashbacks to him cutting me, driving his dagger into my hand, offering to let Rowena kill me, but I held steady. I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “Although, I think I might owe you some pain.” I picked up the knife Dean had left lying on the table and examined it, then uncapped the flash of holy water. 

Crowley laughed. “You think you can scare me with that little blade and some blessed water?” 

I grinned at him, and I knew I looked less than sane. “I'm sleeping with the best, sugar. You think he didn't teach me a few things?” 

A flash of fear crossed the demon's face, quickly enough I almost missed it before he covered it with a sneer. “Please. He thinks you're some innocent little girl who needs protecting. I doubt he taught you anything.” 

Well, that hit a little close to home. I circled behind the chained demon and whispered in his ear, “You ready to find out?” I brought the knife up to his face and pressed the point into his cheek, ready to drag it downward, then caught sight of Dean standing against the wall next to the door. His face was an unreadable mask, but I could see pain in his eyes as he watched me take pleasure in tormenting Crowley. I saw the sweat bead on the demon's temples as I stayed, frozen, in that position for what seemed like an eternity - 

Then I abruptly dropped the knife on the table and backed slowly away. 

Crowley looked from the blade, to me, and back again, then laughed. “You can't do it! She can't do it! Hey, Squirrel - ” 

I cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “No, I _won't_ do it. You, vile little monster that you are, aren't worth the stain on my soul that torturing you would be.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the dungeon, head held high. 

I dimly heard Dean say, “She's got a point, you know,” and Crowley respond with something profane before the buzzing in my ears drowned them out. I found myself sinking down the wall to huddle on the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees and fighting the urge to hyperventilate. 

When Dean emerged from the dungeon, he had a grin on his face the size of Texas. “Kat, that was - ” he began, before catching sight of me curled up in a ball. Instantly his tone changed to one of worry, and he said, “Kat, are you okay?” 

When I didn't respond, he reached down to pull me up. “Hey, kitten, it's okay, we'll - ” 

I jerked my arm away and shrieked, _“Don't touch me!”_

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Dean said soothingly, holding his hands up and taking a step back. “What's wrong?” 

I could barely hear him over the roaring in my ears. My brain felt like it was spinning in circles and I couldn't get enough air, breathing in short, quick puffs. I kept hearing Crowley say, _“The louder you scream, the faster this will be over with,” “Come here, whore, or I'll break your boyfriend's neck,” “Mother, would you care to do the honors?”_ I kept seeing the knife come towards me, feeling the chains jerk my arms above my head, and hearing Rowena's mocking voice. _“Letting an innocent girl be tortured...”_

I didn't register Dean saying my name over and over, getting steadily more frantic, until he was yelling at me. I simply sat there, huddled into my little ball, eyes staring blankly into the distance as I relived my death scene over and over in my head. 

I didn't hear him call for Sam, either, but when a set of strong arms picked me up off the floor I started screaming and flailing, trying to get away. 

I couldn't hear Sam say, “Dammit, Dean, I can't handle her by myself. This is worse than Georgia.” 

I couldn't hear Dean reply, “I'll pin her legs if you get her torso. My shoulder's still sore from that damn chain.” 

And, most importantly, I couldn't hear Crowley laughing maniacally from inside his cell as everything went black. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

I woke up screaming and fighting, lashing out at whatever was touching me and holding me to the surface I was lying on, only to discover it was a blanket. Thrashing my way free, I sat bolt upright and blurrily scanned the room in panic, seeing only the beige walls and carpet of Dean's bedroom. I heaved a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly into the bed, then froze when a voice said, “How are you feeling, kitten?” 

I jerked and looked around for the source of the voice, fighting down the terror that had risen in my chest at the abrupt noise. My eyes stopped at the chair in the corner, where Dean had risen and was slowly making his way towards the bed. 

_It's Dean. Calm down. Breathe. Just Dean._

I took slow, deep breaths, drawing on my lessons from therapy, until I was calm enough to ask, “What happened?” 

Still moving carefully and telegraphing his actions, Dean sat down on the bed next to me. “Well, what do you remember?” 

I frowned. “Um, I told Crowley he was a vile little monster, then I left the dungeon. Then I...oh. I had a panic attack.” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. You weren't responding to me, so I got Sam to help me move you to my room. You fought us pretty hard, too. Think Sam's gonna have a black eye.” 

I winced. “I'm sorry. I thought you were Crowley and his demons.” I paused, then something he had said registered. “Sam had to help you?” 

Dean sighed, rubbing his shoulder. “Yeah. I fought that chain in the warehouse so hard, trying to get to you, that I did something to my shoulder.” 

_“What's so funny, Squirrel?”_ I heard Crowley say, and my throat tightened up as my mind threatened to flash back again. By sheer force of will, I wrestled my consciousness back to the present. 

Apparently, the brief lapse had been noticeable, because Dean was looking at me in concern. “What's wrong, Kat?” 

“I keep hearing him,” I whispered. “I keep seeing you pinned to the floor, and him standing over me with a knife, and then I feel it cut into me and I can't -” I fell silent, wrapping my hands around the back of my skull and gripping tightly, as though the pressure would help ground me in the present. 

I jumped as Dean's arms wrapped around me, then pressed into him as he kissed the top of my head. He murmured soothing nonsense as I shook in his embrace, silent tears falling down my cheeks as I had the meltdown I'd told him was coming. 

Sometime later – seconds, minutes, hours, I didn't know – I finally shuddered and relaxed, collapsing into his chest as though I was a puppet whose strings had been cut. I stayed there for a moment, enjoying the warmth and human contact, before shifting. Dean felt me pull away and immediately released me, letting me move into a position where I was straddling his lap and facing him. I chewed on my lip for a moment, considering, then leaned down and kissed him. 

He returned the kiss, gently at first, then with more passion as I pressed my tongue into his mouth. I pushed him backwards until he fell onto his back, never breaking the kiss, and crawled on top of him. We laid there for several minutes, making out like teenagers, until my hands crept under his shirt. 

He broke the kiss with a gasp and threw his head back as I tweaked his nipples, and I moved my mouth down to his neck, sucking a dark bruise into the skin over his pulse. I jerked at the hem of his shirt meaningfully and he took the hint, sitting up just enough to pull the gray t-shirt over his head and return to kissing me. His hands began to push the fabric of my top upwards until he had it bunched under my arms, exposing my bra, and it was my turn to break our kiss to yank my shirt off. 

I leaned down and bit him hard, just above his collarbone, and Dean arched his back and hissed. “Easy, kitten, I've got enough injuries already.” 

The reminder of the experience in the warehouse threw a bucket of ice water over my libido, and I immediately drew back. “I'm sorry,” I said quietly. “This wasn't a good idea.” I had climbed off of him and gotten off the bed, reaching down to retrieve my shirt, when I felt his hand around my wrist. 

“Hey, hey, I'm sorry,” he said gently, “Come back. We don't have to do anything. Just lay here with me, okay?” 

I considered, then dropped my top back on the ground and climbed under the blankets. Dean followed suit, pressing his body against my back and snaking an arm around my waist. “I don't want you to feel bad,” he whispered against my neck. “Tell me if anything upsets you.” 

“I'm fine,” I responded. “Just – don't hold me too tight.” The arm around my waist immediately loosened. I took a deep breath and pressed back into Dean's chest, savoring the warmth and the steady thump-thump of his heart, and closed my eyes. 

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes again, the space at my back was cold. I sat bolt upright, searching the room frantically for Dean, and jumped when the door to the bathroom opened. When he emerged, toweling his hair dry and wearing only his boxers, I exhaled in relief. 

His head snapped around at the noise. When he saw me sitting up in the bed, a wild look in my eyes, he winced apologetically. “I'm sorry for leaving you alone, kitten, but I had to have a shower.” 

“It's 'kay,” I answered, yawning. “Just come back to bed.” 

He obeyed willingly, dropping his wet towel on the floor and crawling back under the blankets. Smooth, damp skin pressed against my back, and I felt a spark in my lower belly again. I rolled over and pressed my lips to his, feeling the corners of my mouth draw up in a small smile at his undignified squeak of surprise. Breaking the kiss and pushing him onto his back, I straddled his hips and began kissing my way down his neck, relishing the moans I drew from him as I painstakingly hit all the spots I knew drove him crazy. 

Looking up from the new red mark I had carefully sucked into the skin just below his ear, I grinned at him and reached behind me, unhooking my bra and flinging it to the side. As my breasts were exposed, Dean's pupils dilated and his breathing became a little harsher. “You gonna follow through this time, kitten?” he panted. 

_Ouch._ I frowned and smacked his chest. “Don't be a dick.” 

He immediately looked apologetic. “Yeah, I'm sorry. C'mere.” I leaned over him, drinking in the sight of his brilliant green eyes and positively sinful mouth. Suddenly, all I could think about was getting my mouth on his again, and I leaned down and attacked his lips ferociously, shoving my tongue between them and tracing it across the roof of his mouth. He gave a surprised grunt and rolled us over, never breaking the kiss, until I was on my back and he loomed above me. 

Now it was his turn to focus on my sensitive spots, and as he nipped at the dip in my collarbone I moaned and arched my back, shoving my breasts against his chest. Taking the hint, he kissed his way down and sucked a nipple between his lips. I gasped and threaded my hands into his hair, holding his head against my chest as he teased the hard peak with tongue and teeth. 

Once he deemed that nipple suitably abused, Dean kissed his way over to my other breast and repeated the process until both pink nubs were hard and glistening and I was breathing hard. I tugged upward on his hair, trying to get him to come back up and kiss me some more, but he growled and jerked my hands away. He pinned them to the bed above my head, and - 

_\- a knife slid along my ribs and I opened my mouth in a silent scream -_

\- I tensed up and jerked my hands out of Dean's grasp, immediately winding them around his neck and holding tight. “What -” he started, before realization flashed across his face. “Ah, shit, kitten, I'm sorry. No cuffs for a while either, huh?” I shook my head and bit my lip, and he started to roll off me. Instead of releasing his shoulders and letting him move, I clung tighter, and he looked at me in surprise. 

“I don't want to stop,” I whispered. “I need – something good.” Dean looked at me for a moment, head tilted slightly to the side, then shrugged and claimed my lips again. As we kissed, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down as far as I could get them, releasing his hard cock to rest against my belly. When I wrapped my hand around the hard flesh and gently stroked, Dean broke the kiss and gasped. 

“You are wearing too many clothes,” he accused, shoving his boxers the rest of the way off and fumbling at the button of my jeans, and I grinned smugly up at him. 

“Look, just because you were only wearing boxers when -” my snarky remark was cut off with a moan as Dean finally got my pants and underwear off and immediately slid two fingers into me. “Fuck,” I whimpered, bucking up against his hand, and it was his turn to grin smugly. 

“You like that, huh? Want more?” I nodded frantically and shoved my hips against his fingers, seeking any kind of pressure on my clit, but he teasingly kept his hand just out of reach. 

“Dammit, Dean,” I growled, “I swear to God I will tie _you_ to the goddamn bed and use that fucking flogger on _your_ ass if you don't stop teasing me!” He laughed at my empty threats and twisted his wrist so that the heel of his hand pressed against my clit, giving me the delicious friction I was craving. He only left it there for a few moments, though, before completely removing his hand from between my legs. 

Before I could protest, he slid down between my legs and was mouthing at my outer lips. I could feel his smile against my skin as I struggled not to push my hips into his face, needing more pressure and friction, but he kept his touches to light licks and kisses to my outer lips and thighs. Finally, I broke, and said what I knew he wanted to hear. 

“Please, sir!” My gasped words were rewarded with the vibrations of his satisfied laugh rumbling through my sex and a slick tongue flicking over my clit. I was dying to tangle my hands in his hair and pull him closer, but instead I twisted my fingers into the bedclothes and held tight, trying to keep my hips as still as possible too. 

I squeezed my eyes shut as all of my awareness narrowed to a few square inches of skin between my legs and I felt my climax approaching. It hit me like a freight train and I screamed, my hips jerking as I rode the waves of pleasure. Dean continued licking and sucking until I came down, then pulled away with an obscenely wet noise and wiped his mouth on the inside of my thigh. Sprawled on the bed, legs still spread wide, I cracked my eyes open and looked down at my very self-satisfied lover. “Well?” I said. “You gonna fuck me or what?” 

He was on top of me, cock poised at my entrance, before I could even blink at the sudden movement. “That was the plan, yeah,” he said, then frowned and pulled back. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he had rolled off of me onto his back and was gesturing for me to climb on top of him. “How about you do the work this time?” he said teasingly, although I was pretty confident he really wanted to make sure I didn't feel trapped. 

I straddled his hips and held myself teasingly above his cock, rubbing myself against the head but never letting it slip inside me, until Dean growled, “Don't make me regret giving you control, kitten.” I laughed and sank down with no warning, sheathing him inside me in one quick, smooth movement. He arched his back and moaned, and I watched in fascination as he threw his head back in pleasure. After I adjusted to his girth, I began to move up and down, riding him slowly and gently, until I felt his hands grasp my hips. 

“Faster,” he said thickly, his eyes half shut, and I obeyed, quickening my movements until I was bouncing up and down on his dick. I watched the sweat bead in the dip of his collarbone and run down his chest, following its path with my fingernails. The scrape of my nails sent Dean over the edge; he groaned and thrust up hard as his cock throbbed inside me. I stayed there, miking the last of his orgasm from him, until he grunted in discomfort, then got up and retrieved a cloth from the bathroom. 

After cleaning us both up (he didn't move from his sprawled position on the bed), I snuggled down against his shoulder and wrapped my arm around his waist. I felt his arm shift to cradle me, pulling me against him, and I realized I felt...safe. 

Yeah, we were gonna have work to do to get me back to normal – not flinching at Crowley's name, not having flashbacks every time someone grabbed my wrist, not panicking if left alone – but I'd worked through issues before, and this time I had someone to help me. No, not some _one_. Lots of people. Sam, Charlie, Cas – they all cared about me, and I cared about them. 

And for the first time, I was okay with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished it, y'all! Over 100,000 words. There will maybe/probably be an epilogue of some sort, and I have some ideas bouncing around in my head for a sequel, but first I have to finish this damn degree!
> 
> As Charlie would say - see ya later, bitches.


	21. Epilogue

**About a year later**

 

“Dammit Dean Winchester I swear to God you are in _so_ much trouble!” Dean picked me up and swung me over his shoulder, carrying me towards the bedroom. “No! Put me down this _instant!_ You are absolutely _not_ getting out of this one with sex!” I writhed around until I could drive an elbow into his ribcage, but he only huffed out a breath and kept walking. “That cake was for _Charlie,_ because it's _Charlie's_ birthday! How did you even eat an entire chocolate cake? You ought to be _violently_ ill right now -”

My tirade was abruptly cut off when my lover dropped me on our bed and the air went out of my lungs with a _whoosh._ “Who said I ate it all by myself, kitten?” Those gorgeous green eyes were shining with amusement, and I took a brief second to admire them. Then I registered his words and propped myself up on my elbows.

“Ooh, you and your brother are both going to wake up with no eyebrows, just wait.” He was openly laughing at me from his stance beside the bed, and I fell onto my back, crossed my arms, and pouted. “Ass.”

Still laughing, he flung himself down on top of me and tickled my ribs mercilessly. After a few minutes, I was squirming and laughing and breathlessly begging for him to stop, thoughts of Charlie's missing cake pushed to the back of my mind. When he finally stopped, Dean pushed my hair tenderly away from my face and placed a chaste kiss on my lips, a kiss which very quickly became unchaste as I responded fervently.

We made out like teenagers for a while, savoring each others' touch, before I began to slide my hands inside Dean's shirt. I rested them on his shoulders, feeling the tension there, and suddenly I had an idea to relieve it. 

As Dean pulled away and began unbuttoning my top, I bit my lip and thought about it. _Am I ready?_ Well, I knew I could always trust him to stop if I needed him to, and that thought was the one that decided me. 

“Dean?” I said softly, catching his hand. While I was deliberating, he'd gotten off both my shirt as well as his shirt and jeans, and was now cursing lowly at the hook and eye catch on my pants. “Can you get out the cuffs?”

Dean pulled back and looked at me appraisingly. “Are you sure, sweetheart? Last time we tried...” he trailed off, and I winced in remembrance. I had insisted I was ready, that I was fine, and Dean had cuffed me to the headboard against his better judgment. Unfortunately, he'd been right, and I'd used the safeword almost as soon as the leather had fastened around my wrists.

But that had been three months ago, and with almost a year separating us from the death of Rowena and the expulsion of the Darkness, I wanted to try again. “Yeah, I'm sure. If I can't deal with it, I'll safeword, it'll be okay,” I said, looking up at Dean with trusting eyes.

His pupils blew, and his voice took on that dark tone I knew so well. “Then get up, strip, and lay back down on the bed. Arms and legs out.” Instead of fear or apprehension, a frisson of lust raced through me, and I smiled to myself. _Yeah, I'm ready._

I followed his instructions quickly, then reclined on the bed with my arms and legs outstretched to the four corners of the frame. After we'd 'officially' moved in together (I'd had more clothes in his room than in mine, and he'd thrown up his hands and said “Well, why don't you just move in?!” and I'd said “Fine, I will,” and emptied the remainder of my closet into his), Dean had bought a bigger mattress and a four-poster bedframe, ostensibly because we “needed the space.” _Space had nothing to do with the type of bed you bought, honey,_ I thought, eyeing the carved wooden staffs my limbs would soon be cuffed to. _As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you bought new restraints, too._

As I stripped, Dean dug around in the nightstand for a few moments before emerging with a familiar black box. He opened it up and withdrew our usual cuffs, but left the chains in the bottom of the box and went over to the closet. He took a small box off the highest shelf, the one I couldn't reach, and put it on the nightstand. Instead of satisfying my burning curiosity about the contents of that box, he returned to the bed and began to fasten the cuffs around my wrists.

I frowned. It felt odd, have the pressure on my wrists without having my movement restricted, and I opened my mouth to say something about it. Before I could get a word out, though, he opened the box on the night table and I shut up, eager to see what was inside.

I couldn't tell what it was, at first; it just seemed like a ball of black leather straps. When Dean began to untangle it, though, I quickly grasped the principle. There was a loop at one end of each strap which could be loosened or pulled tight, presumably to go around the bedpost, and then the rest of the strap culminated in a complicated clasp which would be fastened to my cuffs.

I swallowed as Dean looped a strap around each of the four bedposts, watching the play of the muscles under the skin of his shoulders as he tightened them. Once done, he climbed onto the mattress with me and fastened the clasps at the top of the bed to my wrists. “I had these custom-made, you know,” he murmured as he worked. “They're exactly the right length to reach from the bedpost to your wrists and ankles with you spread out in the middle of the bed.” 

He leaned back and examined the cuffs, looking pleased with his work, then pulled my arm down until the cuff was tugged a bit over my hand. “Kitten, pay very close attention to this. If something happens, and you have to get out of these right now, press this catch here.” He folded my fingers down until I was touching a small metal bar in the middle of the complicated clasp, then pressed. The clip immediately sprang open, and my wrist cuff was no longer attached to the bedframe. “Got it? Okay, show me on the other arm.”

Once I'd demonstrated my ability to escape, Dean sat back. “I realized, back – _there_ -” I knew he was referring to the abandoned warehouse where I'd died, “that you'd become fair game for monsters, and since I'm not planning on giving you up, I was going to have to be way more careful. So, you now have emergency release catches on your cuffs in case you have to get up and run, or fight, or whatever. God forbid you ever have to use them, but I needed to know I wasn't tying you up for some monster to come eat.” He leaned forward and refastened my wrist cuffs, planting a tender kiss on my forehead. “You got it?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, smiling up at him, and his eyes darkened at the use of the honorific.

“Before we do this,” he said, “I'd like to ask you something. You know how, the first time you saw Crowley after you died, he asked if you were a Winchester?”

I frowned, remembering the panic attack that had followed the encounter all too well, and nodded.

“Well,” Dean said, then swallowed hard before continuing. “How would you feel about, um, maybe actually being a Winchester?”

I blinked once, twice, and then my mouth dropped open. _I - is he - did he just -_ “Did you just _propose_ to me while I'm cuffed to your bed? 

Dean looked sheepish and showed me a small velvet box in his hand. “Uh, yes?”

I hit the safety catch he had just showed me and slipped out of the cuffs, throwing my arms around his neck. “Yes,” I whispered in his ear. “A thousand times yes.”

“You know it'll be dangerous,” he warned. “We won't be able to get married with our legal names, and if the monsters ever figure out I've actually gone and gotten hitched...” 

“We'll kick their asses together,” I promised him, pulling back to look him in the eye. Dean grinned, then popped the box open and slid the simple solitaire ring onto my finger.

“Now then,” he breathed, “Let's get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks!
> 
> There will probably be time-stamps or short ficlets written about these two in the future, so keep your subscriptions active! :)


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